Origins
by chaosattractor
Summary: For Matt and Near, life at Wammy's House was routine and dull - until the day that Mello showed up and changed all of the rules. Covers five years of their lives. Mainly MxM, some MxN. Rating is for yaoi in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"Everyone, listen up—this is your new classmate."

There was no need for Mrs. Westbrook's statement. They had all seen the unfamiliar blonde boy standing in the doorway, and all conversation had ceased immediately. Although new students came to Wammy's House every few months, it was extremely rare for one to enter this class directly. In addition, there was something about this particular boy that drew the eye and made it impossible to look away. Everyone's heads turned in unison as he strode to the center of the classroom, and there was a collective surprised hiss of indrawn breath when he dropped his stack of notebooks on Mrs. Westbrook's desk.

Then some students tore their gazes away from the kid and looked at Mrs. Westbrook, waiting for the storm of fury—but though her eyebrows creased into a frown, she chose not to lecture the new student on his first day.

"Why don't you introduce yourself to the class?" she suggested.

The new boy tilted his chin downward just a hair, and his lips spread into a sly grin. He swept the room slowly with piercing blue eyes. Matt was already watching him attentively, but when those eyes met his for a brief fraction of a second, his stomach…_tingled. _It was a very uncomfortable feeling, and it left him extremely unnerved as the new boy finished his survey of the class.

"You can call me Mello," said the blonde. Then he swept his things off of the teacher's desk and strode to the nearest empty seat in the classroom. He sat down and dropped a fresh notebook onto the center of the desk with a resounding _thud._ Paper crinkled loudly as he folded the cover back for the first time. "I'll sit here," he informed Mrs. Westbrook.

The room was gripped by another pregnant pause. No one assigned their own seat in Mrs. Westbrook's classroom. Again, everyone waited for the outraged lecture to begin—but it didn't. The teacher raised her eyebrows, but all she said was, "Very well…that seat is acceptable."

Then she turned to the board and picked up a fresh piece of chalk. "Now, we'll begin where we left off last time…"

And class was back to normal.

But not for Matt. He was still recovering from that bizarre feeling in his stomach, and he couldn't concentrate on the lecture at all. The sheer unfamiliarity and unexpectedness of the experience had left him flustered and a little bit shaky. He wanted to know what had caused it.

So he began parsing his impressions of the new boy. He had stood out from the moment he walked into the room, but why? All he had done was cross the classroom, and every new student had to do that. He'd put his things on Mrs. Westbrook's desk, something that no one familiar with her severity would dare to do—but Mello was brand new, so he obviously didn't know that she ran the strictest classroom in the House. Matt couldn't put his finger on what it was about him.

Things got easier once he began comparing his first impressions of Mello to those he had made of other new students in the past. Most of them trailed after Mrs. Westbrook like shadows, clutching their new school books nervously to their chests, and looked at the sea of unfamiliar faces in front of them with wide, fearful eyes. Not Mello—he had waited calmly in the doorway until Mrs. Westbrook had reached her desk and stopped. Only then, when all eyes were guaranteed to be drawn to him, had he strode into the classroom. And of the intimidation that other students felt upon entering the most elite classroom in the world Mello had shown no sign. He didn't avoid eye contact; quite the contrary, he had sought it out briefly with each one of them. That conveyed…_confidence,_ that was the word Matt wanted_._ That was the realization that he had been working toward this whole time. Mello fairly oozed confidence. Everything he did, from picking his own seat to scathing the class with his imperious gaze, said that this boy was afraid of nothing. He looked like he was ready to take rank number one tomorrow.

Matt abruptly halted his train of thought. He was surprised at how far he had let his mind wander. Somewhere in the midst of his reasoning he had strayed from deductive analysis into wild speculation. It wasn't logical to conclude that Mello had no fears—or that he was smart enough to take a high rank—just from his brief introduction to the class. Near would chastise him if he'd spoken that aloud.

But nevertheless…Matt couldn't shake the feeling that it was all true.

He blinked eyes that had gone dry during his distraction and forced his attention back to the lecture. He would run his thoughts by Near later. If Near disagreed with his conclusions, he would forget about them.

* * *

"Well? What did you think?"

Near wound his silver-white hair around one finger, staring distractedly at the puzzle in front of him. "I haven't solved the equation yet."

Matt narrowed his eyes resentfully. "I wasn't talking about the stupid problem set," he said. "I meant Mello!"

Near shifted his weight from one bent knee to the other. "The new student," he stated. "I haven't formed an impression of him. There is no data yet from which to draw a conclusion."

"R—right, yeah." Matt couldn't tell whether he was relieved or disappointed to hear that. On one hand, that had been his eventual conclusion earlier. But on the other… "Hey Near…but um, what'd you think of…his eyes?"

Near's hand darted into the pile of puzzle pieces with surprising speed and drew one out. It looked just like all the others to Matt, but Near was able to connect it to one of its mates without hesitation. "They are blue," he replied.

Matt fought a surge of irritation. Sometimes he suspected that Near's conversational misunderstandings were deliberate. But he knew from long experience that pushing him would only make him act more difficult, so he kept his voice carefully neutral. "And that's it?" he prompted.

Near anchored another puzzle piece. "Yes. Is there something besides color to note about someone's eyes?"

Maybe not. But—"Near, did you actually make eye contact with him?"

Three more puzzle pieces snapped into place before Near answered. Matt swallowed his impatience hard. "No," he finally replied. "There's no point."

All right, it had been a dumb question. Near rarely looked even Matt directly in the eyes, and Matt was his closest approximation to a friend. Usually he didn't care, but today this annoyed him immensely. He turned away from Near and pulled out his game boy. "Well since you didn't bother looking, I guess you just can't understand," he declared airily. He switched on the game and flipped it quickly to silent mode, since they were in the library.

This time Near's response was almost immediate. "What additional information can be gained from looking at a person's eyes at the same time as he is looking at yours?"A great question. Matt's retort had been prompted by irritation, not because he actually had something substantive to say. Now he was belatedly realizing that he may have unwittingly picked an argument with the boy who beat him four times out of five for the title of best analytical mind in Wammy's House. He grasped for straws, and managed to find one. "Come on, Near. They say that "the eyes are the window to the soul," don't you know that?"

As soon as the words left his lips, he felt foolish. There was no logical merit behind that statement. Plus, it was pretty weird to start talking about the "soul" of some kid he didn't even know, even if it was in the context of a truism.

Near, though, entirely failed to catch the oddity. There was a moment of silence, and then Near's back and shoulders came to rest against Matt's, one hand anchoring firmly in his hair. They often sat like this while they studied, since Near loved hair but hated eye contact. "That is a myth," the younger boy replied crisply. "A human's eyes always look the exact same. In fact, they are the only part of the face that shows no expression whatsoever. You are mistaken."

That comment made Matt downright annoyed, and suddenly he found that he wanted to not only continue this debate, but win it. "I'm not mistaken," he insisted. "Mello looked every single person in the class in the eyes. That means that he likes being the center of attention, because he could have minimized his time in front of the class by not doing that. Eye contact is also a…personal connection. So that means he's sociable." _Unlike you, Near, _he thought, but stopped himself before saying it aloud. "He's not shy or awkward or unfriendly. He'll make a ton of friends in no time." And each of those statements, he had to admit, were just as untrue of himself as they were of Near. He pushed that thought out of his mind and continued. "He'll probably make friends with Linda and Kentin and—"_anyone else who picks on you and I when the teachers aren't around._ "—that crowd. And he'll make a bunch of enemies, too." The popular kids always did, somehow.

There was still more to be said, some essential quality in Mello's gaze that Matt hadn't been able to pin down in words yet. His eyes were still fresh in Matt's memory. Intense, piercing, eyes that somehow suggesting that they were looking through him—no, _into _him—rather than at him. The gaze that pinned him in place like a physical thing. "Mello's eyes are…special," he said quietly.

The slight tug in his hair as Near switched from holding it to braiding it reminded him of who he was talking to, and he belatedly realized that he'd spoken aloud. He suppressed a groan. He'd called Mello's eyes special; now he needed to back that up analytically or Near would end this discussion by chastising him here and now. "It's because of…the…expression on his face," he began, wincing as he faltered. "He smiled, but…it wasn't friendly. He didn't show his teeth. He kept his mouth closed and only smiled on one side of his face, so that made it look more like a smirk or a leer than an actual smile. He tilted his head down so that even though we were sitting and he was standing, it was as if he was looking slightly up at us. At that angle, eyes shaped like his look…threatening." The details began falling into place, and suddenly Matt could see his path to the finish line clearly. He plunged onward. "Tilting his head down also shadows his face a little bit, so it enhances all of those effects. He moves with very crisp motions. Combining all that, it makes his gaze look _predatory._" Finally, he had put his finger on it, that quality he'd been searching for a name for all day long. He grinned. "He's going to compete at a high level in classes. And he can't compete with the people in our class without being smart, so he's really smart. He may even compete for _our_ ranks," he added thoughtfully.

"Matt has a very good analytical mind when he chooses to use it." Near's tone carried a hint of reproof, and Matt's heart sank. Being addressed by Near in the third person was never a good sign. "However, it is best to base conclusions on observable evidence rather than speculative extrapolation. There is no proof that he is smart, and there will be no empirical evidence either way until after the graded exam next week. Matt is having an emotional reaction to the new student, not a logical one."

Matt stiffened. "What?" he demanded, momentarily forgetting that they were in the library. He quieted quickly when he received a few dirty looks from other students. "I just told you all the reasons!" he hissed softly.

"None of what Matt calls "reasons" had anything to do with a change in his eyes, which was the original subject of discussion," said Near flatly. His tone clearly indicated that the conversation was closed. "More importantly--" He snatched the problem set that both of them had long since memorized from its resting place on the floor and held it behind his head with two fingers so that it dangled directly in Matt's face. "—there is this to consider. But Matt is slacking off, as usual."

Matt glared, even though Near couldn't see his expression. No seven-year-old should be able to talk to him like that. And even though Near had ultimately arrived at the same conclusion that he had earlier—that his logic wasn't good—he was now more certain than ever that he was right. It was so _obvious, _why couldn't Near see it? Because he hadn't even bothered making eye contact, that's why. "If you had looked in his eyes, you'd understand!" he insisted.

Near untangled his fingers from Matt's hair and pulled away, forcing him to sit up straight. "Matt is a distracting and unreliable study partner. I will work on the problems by myself."

Matt spun around and glared balefully at the back of Near's head. "Near is the one who's distracting!" He snapped his mouth shut in chagrin when he realized that he'd unconsciously emulated Near's speech pattern. "I mean, _you're_ the annoying one, Near." Near was ignoring him in favor of arranging his stuffed bunny in a sitting position on the opposite side of his puzzle. Matt sighed. It would be a waste of time to try to change his mind now, but that was all right with him. He preferred working alone anyway—it was Near who was always seeking out his company, not the other way around. He relocated to one of the comfortable overstuffed library chairs and reset his video game. He had beaten this one twice already, but playing it helped to pass the time and stave off boredom.

He was so engrossed that he jumped in surprise when someone tapped on his shoulder. The hapless boy took a startled step back when Matt frowned at him. It was Daniel—studious, meek, perpetually nervous; he was in the bottom third of the elite class.

"Uh...I'm uh, sorry, Matt, but your game is really disrupting my concentration," he whispered. "Do you think you could maybe—"

"The sound's turned off," Matt pointed out resentfully.

"Yeah I know, but, um…the buttons still click really loudly," he said uncomfortably. "I'm really having trouble with this math, so—"

"Why don't you go somewhere else, then?" Matt demanded in bewilderment.

Daniel wilted. "It's just that the other tables are full, and I can't take the book I'm using out of the library. But, I mean, you could take your game anywhere, so…"

"I'm not doing anything to you," complained Matt. "Quit bothering me!"

Daniel gave him a miserable look and went back to his table. Matt swung his legs over the side of the chair and rested the game against the back of it so that he wouldn't have to see the back of Daniel's head anymore. After that he lost track of time and eventually dozed.

He was awoken by a clarion peal of laughter that shattered the silence of the library. He blinked groggily and rubbed his eyes as he searched for the source of the sound, but he already knew who it was. He spotted Mello at a table on the far side of the room. The library attendant had already approached and was leaning in to give him a soft lecture about the noise policy. Matt's eyes widened when he saw that Linda and Kentin were sitting at the table with him. He felt a surge of satisfaction and twisted in his seat to smirk at Near, but the white-haired boy was completely absorbed in his own thoughts and was still looking in the opposite direction. Matt rolled his eyes and turned back.

Now that the attendant had gone away, Mello and his two newfound companions were pointing and giggling in hushed voices. Matt followed their gazes and saw one of the students from the average class glaring back with a paper airplane clutched in his hands. As he watched, the boy crushed it into a ball and threw it onto the ground. Matt's eyes widened. Mello and his friends had actually dodged the bullet by getting caught only for noise—they would have gotten more than a lecture if the attendant figured out that they were picking on someone. He smiled slightly. This was his _second_ prediction to come true in almost as many minutes—Mello was already starting to make enemies.

Matt watched them for awhile. They whispered and pointed furtively, picking their targets. Eventually the attendant left her desk and disappeared into the back shelves with a cart full of books. Mello moved quickly. Two students were hit with airplanes almost before Matt could blink. Mello buried his face in his arms, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Matt found himself grinning too, even though he was in no way part of the action.

An audible growl from his stomach brought him back to himself. He turned his game off quickly—he had died anyway—and left Near and Mello behind in the library in favor of the cafeteria. He grabbed a few bags of potato chips and two cans of soda and plopped down at one of the tables. He had resolved to work on the problem set while he ate, since Mr. Ruvie liked to lecture him if he fell too far behind Near, but his mind kept finding its way back to Mello somehow. He kept making new observations, things that went above and beyond what he had told Near. It was as if his first few conclusions had been the innocent snowflakes that started the avalanche of new thoughts—for example, when Mello had dropped his school supplies on Mrs. Westbrook's desk, that left him standing in front of the class alone, with no barrier between himself and them. No one else did that. Matt wore sunglasses as much as possible and if that failed, he looked at his video game rather than directly at whoever was talking to him. Near avoided eye contact with almost everyone in the first place, and if he was forced to make it he played with his hair nervously. Theirs were probably the most obvious ones, but other people had barriers too, even the popular ones. Kentin always put his hands in his pockets when he talked to someone, and Linda clasped hers, and Daniel played with his pen, and—the list went on, Matt realized. Everyone did something to avoid presenting themselves completely to others. But not Mello. He just stood with his arms hanging comfortably by his sides, or resting on whatever furniture was near him. Even his body language said volumes; he always took up the maximum amount of space, throwing his arms out, extending his legs…he must really like attention. It bespoke so much confidence—it all came back to confidence, really—

His train of thought was interrupted when someone sat down next to him. It was Temper, one of the girls in the elite class who was nearly the same age as him. Linda trailed closely behind her. Temper smiled shyly at him. "Hi."

Matt wondered why she had bothered greeting him when they had already spoken earlier that day. "Hi," he answered warily.

"Can I finish braiding your hair?" she asked.

Matt frowned in consternation and lifted his hand to his head. He had forgotten about the few small braids Near had made. They were sticking out haphazardly from the left side of his head. "Why?" he asked blankly.

Temper leaned forward earnestly. "Because it would look cute if all of your hair was braided!"

Matt was taken aback. Near had the deftest fingers, and it had still taken him several minutes to put these braids in. It would take at _least _an hour for Temper to apply the same thing to the rest of his head. And that wasn't even considering the amount of time it would take him to get it all out again. Was she stupid, suggesting something like that? Was she teasing him? "Why would I want that?" he demanded.

Temper pouted, thrusting her lower lip out. "You let Near braid your hair, but you won't let me?" she insisted.

Matt's jaw dropped. "It's not a matter of "letting," that's just what Near _does._" And she was in their class, she knew it as well as he did. So why was she acting like this? First Daniel, now Temper—why wouldn't people leave him alone? He turned away from her and popped a bag of chips open. "Won't you just go away?" he pleaded.

There was a long silence, and then a sniffle. "Fine!" exclaimed Temper thickly. He was peripherally aware of her jumping to her feet and running away. His relief to be free of her only lasted a moment, though, before Linda shoved his shoulder hard enough to make him drop his chips. He spun in his seat to find her glaring daggers at him.

"Geeze, Matt! Why do you have to be such a freaking jerk?" When he didn't answer, she pressed forward. "Don't you feel bad, making a girl cry?"

Matt stared at her blankly. "Why the heck is she crying?" he asked in bafflement.

Linda rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot." Then she turned and ran after Temper.

Matt turned back to his junk food and glared. Everyone had gone crazy today. The day had started off weirdly with Mello's arrival, and it felt like everyone else had been tainted by bizarre behavior after that. Maybe even he himself had, Matt admitted silently. He hadn't felt normal the entire day, not with thoughts of Mello buzzing incessantly through his head and refusing to leave him alone. It made him nervous and jittery, an extremely unfamiliar feeling.

_Feeling._ He had said it himself, this time. Near had suggested it earlier. Could he have been right? He recalled the way his mouth had dried up when Mello met his eyes, the way is stomach had felt funny. Was that a feeling? Or was it the way his mind had frozen in that moment that should be called a feeling? When it came right down to it, Matt didn't know.

But either way, he was still certain that everything he had seen—or deduced, or felt, or whatever—about Mello was completely true. He hoped Near had noticed that two of his conclusions and been borne out so far. But Near wouldn't take it seriously until he got the observed empirical evidence that he was looking for. Matt sighed in chagrin. That probably meant waiting until the written exam, and that was still eight days away.

Then his eyes snapped open. Actually there was another option, wasn't there…? If he wanted to know about Mello's personality, the quickest way was probably to _talk to Mello._ Surely it would become clear in conversation whether he was smart or not.

Matt rested his forehead against his palm and laughed quietly to himself. That was so obvious, wasn't it? He was surprised that it had taken him this long to realize it.

That settled it; to prove his point to Near, he would talk to Mello.

* * *

What followed were three extremely frustrating days. The flaw in Matt's plan became obvious almost immediately: he had no idea how to meet Mello. Making friends wasn't something he made a habit of, or had much success at. After all, the only person he could call something like a friend was Near—and Near was the only guy in the House _worse_ at making friends than he was. They were pushed together frequently by circumstances since they were the two official potential Successors to L. They always had an advanced problem set unique to them that not even the rest of the elite class worked on, so they often studied together. If they weren't studying together then they were studying alone—never with the other students. The others respected them for their intelligence, but it also created a barrier. Everyone knew that Near and Matt were the smartest, everyone knew that Near and Matt had met L in person, everyone knew that Near was weird and Matt was unfriendly…it had pushed them into a sort of bubble, isolated from the rest of their classmates even when surrounded by them. They weren't often picked on outright, but they weren't exactly welcomed warmly by their peers either.

That was fine with Matt. He liked being left alone. It had never bothered him in the slightest—until now. He wished he'd paid attention in the past to how other people made friends. There had been plenty of opportunities—each time a new student arrived, in fact—but he'd never bothered. He'd never cared.

Right now the only new person was Mello, so he was trying to take note of how other people met him for the first time. He'd been ghosting after the blonde from time to time, trying to learn what he could. He never quite spotted a way that he could actually talk to him, unfortunately, but he was piling up a whole new set of observations. For example, he always traded parts of his lunch for peoples' desserts. Matt had taken to carrying a candy bar with him at all times, just in case. And he still kept noticing more and more details about Mello's first appearance, the avalanche of observations flattening all other thoughts, making it almost impossible for him to concentrate on anything. He hadn't been able to win a boss battle in days. He'd even slept poorly last night, waking fitfully with half-formed images in his mind of how Mello held a pencil or the shape of his shoulders when he was reading intently or the way his hair moved when he tossed his head.

The worst moment of all had come when he'd overheard Mello asking a few of their classmates about the ranking system. Matt had been sitting unobtrusively on the ground at the time, and no one had realized he was there. The other students had explained that everyone got a numerical ranking based on their most recent exam scores, and that Near and Matt were most often one and two. Mello had responded with, "I know Near, he's that strange pale kid…but who's Matt?"

So that was why today, when he saw Mello stand up from his table and leave the library alone, he dropped his video game without thinking and bolted after him.

"Hey!" he called.

Mello stopped and spun around in surprise. He cocked his head slightly when he saw Matt. "What?"

Matt froze. Now that he was here, he had no idea what to say. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the candy bar. "Um—here! This is for you!" he blurted. He held the candy bar at arm's length, staring awkwardly at the floorboards.

Mello took a few steps towards him and pulled the offering out of Matt's numb grip. He glanced at it, then peered at Matt instead. "Hey—how'd you know that chocolate is my favorite?"

Matt's cheeks started to burn. He felt so strange under Mello's gaze, like the other boy was dissecting him with his eyes. It made his throat tighten so that he could hardly speak. "Um…" Somehow answering "because I've watched you eat every meal in the cafeteria" seemed like a bad idea. "Just…thought you'd like it," he mumbled.

Mello tore the wrapper back in one smooth motion and took a huge bite. "Thanks!" He grinned brightly. "You're nice."

Matt's eyes widened. Nobody had ever called him "nice" before.

"H—hey—do you want to come and study with me and Near later?" he stammered. "We have a special problem set that only we work on."

Mello crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you Matt?" he demanded.

Matt could have kicked himself. So stupid—all that talking and he had forgotten to give his name. But yet—"You know who I am?" he asked incredulously.

"You're hard to miss, with that hair," answered Mello. Matt's eyes widened and his hand flew unconsciously to his head. "Linda told me that the redhead in our class is called Matt. I heard you're the second smartest guy, too." He grinned radiantly, and the combination of his smile and his golden-blonde hair seemed to light up the hallway. "I'm going to take your rank."

The words weren't nice. The sentiment behind them wasn't nice. But somehow the only reaction Matt could have was to grin back stupidly because for some reason, the sun seemed to be shining straight through the walls of Wammy's House right then."Sure," said Mello. "I'll study with you guys." His eyes flicked to a clock hanging on the wall and widened. "I have to meet with Mr. Ruvie right now, but I'll find you after dinner!"

With that, he turned and dashed down the hallway. Matt stared after him. He had been even more vindicated by this conversation—Mello was just as full of confidence and competitive spirit as he had predicted! He couldn't wait until Near found out—he would have to eat his words so hard.

Matt couldn't stop smiling as he hurried to his next class.


	2. Chapter 2

Mello stopped in surprise as he realized where they were headed. Matt walked a few more steps before he realized Mello wasn't beside him and turned around to gaze at him questioningly. "We're going to study in a play room?" he demanded. "Not a classroom? Not even the library?"

Matt blinked at him like he was the one acting oddly. "It's what Near likes," he said, as if that explained all.

Mello pursed his lips. "_I_ don't like it," he complained. "Near's really weird, isn't he?"

Matt shrugged noncommittally and resumed walking. "You get used to it."

They reached the play room and walked inside. Near was sitting in the middle of the floor with his legs twisted to either side, surrounded by a ring of stuffed animals and action figures. He didn't react when company arrived.

"Near, I brought Mello here to study with us tonight," said Matt without preamble.

Near paused in the act of building a pyramid out of figurines. "Ah," he said, his voice completely devoid of inflection. "You brought the new boy."

Mello waited for more, but nothing else was forthcoming. Near didn't introduce himself, didn't wave, didn't say hi, nothing. He didn't even look up. Mello was momentarily at a loss. He wasn't used to being ignored, and he didn't like the feeling one bit. He crossed the room to stand in front of Near. He smiled his most charming smile, but it was a wasted gesture since the boy didn't look up from the plastic dinosaur in his hands. He tried once more. "Hi," he said. "I'm Mello."

"I am aware of that," replied Near mechanically. He placed the dinosaur carefully atop a plastic soldier and picked up a transformer.

Once again, that was all. Mello glanced at Matt and raised his eyebrows questioningly, searching for a clue about Near's strange behavior. Matt just shrugged.

Mello was starting to get downright flustered, and that made him mad. He dropped to his knees so that he was on Near's level. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "Don't you know it's rude not to look at someone when you meet them?"

Near clutched the plastic soldier to his chest and turned his face farther away, his free hand twisting his hair agitatedly. "I am fine like this," he said.

Mello frowned and leaned closer, trying to place himself in Near's line of sight. Near deftly avoided him, and his frown turned into a glare. He was peripherally aware of Matt shaking his head frantically, but ignored him. "Well I'm not fine!" he declared in frustration. He snatched the toy out of Near's hands and tossed it aside. Then he clasped Near's head with both hands, fingers splayed, and turned his face towards him.

Their eyes met, finally. Near's were slate gray and very round with surprise. His lips had formed a perfect O, and his fingers had frozen with a lock of white hair wound around them. His breathing had all but stopped. His gaze skittered over Mello's face, flicked down to the floor, then returned to his eyes. He stopped trying to look away; that was more like it. Mello released his face and rested his arms around the younger boy's neck, then smiled and brought his forehead very close to Near's. "See?" he said. "My face isn't so bad to look at, is it?"

Near started breathing again, quick and shallow. His hands fluttered over the well-worn carpet, groping blindly for a toy to clutch but finding nothing. Finally he sought out the one comfortable place that was in his reach. His fingers buried themselves in the depths of Mello's hair, and he stilled.

"It is rude to touch someone against their wishes," said Near softly. His voice was shaky, halting, a stark contrast to the monotone of several minutes earlier. "I am…very uncomfortable."

Mello's eyes widened. Then he burst out laughing. He said that, but he was still gripping his handful Mello's hair tightly. He might be brand new to the strange habits that passed for Near's social graces, but Mello was pretty sure that this meant acceptance. He released the other boy's neck with one arm and snatched a toy car off the ground to press it against his chest. Near freed a hand from his hair in order to clasp it. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips as he turned away and ran the car back and forth over the carpet. His other hand remained firmly in Mello's hair. Mello grinned and glanced up to catch Matt's eye. The redhead was looking between the two of them with wide, worried eyes. Mello waved him over. Near arranged himself comfortably against Mello's shoulder as Matt approached. Matt gave Mello a strange look as he sat down, but he unfolded the problem set and laid it out on the floor wordlessly.

Mello peered at it curiously. There were only a few questions. One involved math that he was certain was beyond him, and another, much to his dismay, was written in a foreign language. He couldn't even tell which one. He swallowed and tried to ignore the wave of uncertainty that rolled over him. "So how come just the two of you get extra problems?" he asked quickly.

"That is because Matt and I are the official candidates to succeed L," answered Near. His voice was calm once again.

"And that's because you're ranked one and two?" Mello inquired.

"Usually," answered Near. "Although sometimes Matt drops in rank because he failed to study."

Mello glanced at Matt in surprise. The redhead was glaring at Near, nettled. "Hey, sometimes I beat you too, Near, don't forget that!" he exclaimed.

"That is less than twenty per cent of the time," replied Near stiffly. "If Matt wants a consistent ranking, he should work hard consistently.

Matt glared. "Hey—" He broke off when Mello jerked upright in surprise, and stared at him questioningly.

Mello's hand flew to the side of his head where Near's fingers were. He had realized that Near wasn't just playing with it, he was doing something more. He found two braids already in place, and a third that was half finished. He pulled one of them forward so that he could confirm its nature, and stared. "Did you just braid my hair?" he asked in disbelief. "With…one hand?"

Near drove the car into his stack of action figures, sending them toppling to the ground. "Does that bother you?" he asked quietly.

Mello twisted in place, trying to catch Near's eye once again, but he was staring intently at his toys. He shrugged and faced forward again. "No," he answered. It seemed that allowing the braiding was an integral part of being around Near. "I suppose not." He released Near's fingers, and the younger boy deftly finished the braid within moments.

Mello looked over Matt and Near, and then the problem set. These were his new classmates, and that was the level of achievement he was going to have to reach. He could see that he had his work cut out for him.

* * *

Matt's life changed now that Mello was around. His newfound friend had every intention of becoming one of the official Successor candidates as quickly as possible. He turned out to be quite bright, just as Matt had expected. But his predictions suffered a major blow when it turned out that Mello was in the remedial math section. Near smirked about it, but Matt didn't think it took away from Mello's innate intelligence. After all, it wasn't _his_ fault that his previous orphanage didn't teach calculus. Mello complained that his current math class moved too slowly, borrowed a pile of textbooks and vowed to complete the coursework in a quarter of the time allotted.

He also didn't speak a word of any language but English. There were sequences of French, Russian and Mandarin Chinese in progress right now, but he needed to work with an individual tutor before he could catch up enough to join them. Near was conspicuously silent about that deficiency. His weakness with language was well-known; he took only half the normal complement of language courses. Mello's initial reaction was to complain that languages were a waste of time that could be better spent on math because everyone at Wammy's spoke fluent English, but only until he figured out that being the House's sole monoglot meant his classmates could call him "stupid American" in a dozen different tongues while he was none the wiser. Then he added a pile of French books to his math books and buckled down.

Despite a few muttered complaints about Mello's lack of proficiency in math, Near offered no objection to working with him on any other subject. Mello became a regular in their study sessions in no time. Instead of sitting back-to-back with him the way he did with Matt, Near would drape himself across Mello's back and shoulders with one hand in his hair and one arm around his neck, like a pale, white-haired blanket. He seemed to have a particular affinity for Mello's hair, and Matt understood why when he ran his fingers through it one day curiously. It was soft and silken, without a doubt far more pleasing to the touch than Matt's thick and somewhat course shock of hair.

The three of them sitting in a group and studying became a common sight around Wammy's House. As soon as Mello figured out that part of the reason for Near's lethargy was that his legs didn't support his weight very well, he began carrying Near from place to place on his back. That expanded their range of study locations greatly, and after that they took over classrooms, any and all corners of the library, and sometimes even hallways.

Mello tried to convince them to study outside repeatedly. Matt eventually gave in, but Near was stoically against the idea until the day Mello convinced Matt to help him throw the younger boy into the stream that ran through the edge of the House grounds. Near was so light it felt like nothing to lift him between the two of them, but Matt's arms were starting to ache by the time they had sprinted halfway across the soccer field. It turned out that there was no good way to toss Near into the deep part without getting wet themselves, so they all ended up tumbling into the water. Near spluttered and flailed indignantly as he righted himself, and had made it halfway back to the House proper under his own power by the time Mello and Matt had even managed to stop laughing and sit up. But his energy flagged long before he reached the indoors, and he ended up striking a deal that he would study outside in the shade of the big trees for one hour each day provided Mello didn't pull any more pranks like that. Then Matt and Mello helped him back to the House and into a dry set of pajamas.

Matt found that studying with Mello was infinitely more appealing than it had been to study alone or just with Near. When the three of them worked side-by-side, it was easy to get so engrossed in schoolwork that he didn't even notice the passage of time. He was studying for hours more each day than he ever had before. Entire afternoons slipped past in which he didn't even turn his game boy on. And to his surprise, he found that his rankings suddenly steadied out. Gone were his frequent fluctuations anywhere between one and ten. In the next round of exams, he beat Near on five of their eight subjects, and took second in the other three. Mr. Ruvie met with him specially, his smile brimming with happiness as he congratulated him on his newfound work ethic.

Mello also began making waves immediately. He took rank eight in English, seven in chemistry and, most impressively, four in Deduction on the very first round of exams. He wasn't below fourteen in anything but math. And after that, his rankings only climbed. The whole school started whispering in speculation about how long it would take before he was jostling for position with Matt and Near.

Things changed between Matt and his classmates, too. Mello made friends with almost everyone, which meant that lots people came by to talk to him. And since he was often with Matt and Near, that meant that the other students hung around them as well. The bubble that had isolated them had been popped by Mello's arrival. Now anyone might come chat with them at any given time. People who had seemed openly hostile to Near in the past were now revealed to be just uncertain of how to deal with the brilliant but strange boy in their midst. People Matt had thought hated him turned out to be pretty friendly once he started talking to them. He was surprised by how many of the classmates he had by and large ignored until now turned out to be somewhat interesting. Daniel, for example, proved to be a natural whiz at video games once Matt taught him how to work the controls. He even managed to make up with Temper, who had been giving him the silent treatment for nearly a month, by shyly asking if she still wanted to braid his hair. She and Near made a joint effort, and it did, in fact, end up taking more than an hour. Mello burst out laughing when he saw the results, and so did Matt the instant he looked in a mirror. He had to have at least a hundred tiny braids sticking up and out haphazardly from his head. It was much more unruly than his typical unbrushed look, and it looked a little bit like he'd stuck his finger in a socket. But it was so entertaining that he left it there for five days, until Mr. Ruvie pointedly reminded him that he needed to wash his hair again sooner or later. Then it took _more_ than an hour to get all the braids back out, but it wasn't so bad since Mello and Near helped him.

When he wasn't studying, in class or sleeping the sleep of the exhausted, Matt spent his time with Mello. They had their first fight when Mello unexpectedly tried to read to him out of the bible one afternoon. Mystified, Matt demanded to know why the heck he'd bother to open that stupid thing up when it wasn't even assigned in class. He didn't realize he'd made a mistake until Mello tackled him, and didn't realize how serious a mistake until his friend was still snubbing him the next day. Matt gradually realized that Mello _actually took that god stuff seriously. _He didn't think anyone still did that these days! Certainly no one else at Wammy's did. They had discussed the psychological and societal factors that led to religion during class, and Matt couldn't figure out why any intelligent being would buy into it.

But Mello had, somehow. He made Matt apologize and take back his words before he would talk to him again. After that, Matt kept his mouth shut if Mello wanted to read the bible to him. There actually turned out to be some fascinatingly messed-up stuff in it, but he quickly learned that it was a mistake to make that observation out loud.

In addition to reading to him, Mello loved to talk. He would talk about anything and everything, from mocking the size of Mrs. Westbrook's butt to speculating about how the universe would end. Everything he said was fascinating. Even things that Matt had considered many times before somehow became fresh and exciting on Mello's lips. He loved to listen to him. He would follow him around for hours, through the hallways, into the cafeteria, even outside into the bright sunlight that bothered his eyes, listening raptly to what Mello had to say. These were times that belonged only to them. Near wasn't mobile enough to keep up, plus he spurned all activities other than studying and puzzles. They were Matt's favorite times. Mello was always smiling, and Matt was amazed to realize how much he could smile, too. Sometimes he laughed so much that it made his face hurt.


	3. Chapter 3

It was six weeks after Mello's arrival that he snuck into Matt's bedroom at night for the first time. Matt struggled up from the depths of sleep, fighting confusion and disorientation as he tried to understand why the whole world was shaking. He blinked groggily and found himself staring up at Mello's face. The blonde was shaking him.

"Nngh," he mumbled, fighting the clinging strands of sleep. "What?"

"Finally!" exclaimed Mello in a hushed voice. "I've been shaking you forever!"

Matt rubbed his eyes blearily. "'m a heavy sleeper," he mumbled. "Whaddya want?"

"Come on, get up!" Mello's voice was commanding, even though he was barely speaking above a whisper. "I want to get some new clothes, and some chocolate."

Matt would have groaned if he weren't so tired. This had to be a response to their conversation from earlier today. Mello had plopped down in front of him and snatched a half-eaten bag of potato chips out of his hands. "Hey! How come you're eating this?" had been his demand.

Matt had stared at him stupidly. "Because I like the sour cream and onion kind?" he hazarded.

Mello pouted. "That's not what I meant. The kitchen lady won't let me have more than two chocolate bars per day, but you eat, like, five bags of chips each day and nobody stops you!" Matt opened his mouth to reply, but Mello ploughed on. "And stupid Near wears pajamas all the time! I mean, _all the time!_ I don't think I've _ever_ seen him in real clothes! But I'm forced to wear _this._" He plucked disparagingly at a shirt that looked no different to Matt than what any other student was wearing. "It's not fair. Why can't I eat and wear what I want, too?"

Matt blinked at him blankly. Mello was wearing a green t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and he couldn't for the life of him see what was so objectionable about that. In fact, he gradually realized, he was wearing nearly the same thing. So he made the mistake of asking what was wrong with their outfits, and what it was Mello wanted to wear.

"I dunno," was Mello's sullen reply. "Something that's not ugly. This is so ugly! The color's all wrong, and the round neckline makes my face look all—" He broke off when he saw that Matt was pulling the neckline of his shirt out and awkwardly peering at it. "Well not for _you,_" he said exasperatedly. "Green complements your eyes, and it goes well with your hair. But it totally clashes with mine!"

Matt had given up on trying to understand, and had just explained that those who had been designated by L as potential Successors were exempt from most House rules and had many special privileges. It was L's most firm rule: Matt and Near were to develop according to their own desires.

"So when can I be a Successor, too?" Mello had demanded urgently. "I've been beating some of your scores lately, haven't I?"

Matt hesitated. There was the matter of Mello's rank in Maths, for one thing. He had finished the first course in calculus and tested out of the remedial section in five weeks, a feat that even Near had to grudgingly respect, but his Maths rank was still below thirty. But there was more to it than that. "You don't get to be a Successor just by getting a good score," he told Mello. "L has to come here and approve you specially."

"When will he?" demanded Mello.

Matt didn't have an answer for that question. L's schedule was both busy and unpredictable. Not even Mr. Ruvie knew when his next visit would be.

Apparently Mello wasn't willing to wait.

Matt closed his eyes again. "'m sleepy," he complained.

"Oh—come on!" Mello reached under the covers and seized his hand. "You're my best friend here! If you won't come with me, who will?"

Matt was already half drowsing, but that statement was enough to make him crack one eye open again. "I'm your best friend?" he repeated.

Mello's smile faltered. "Aren't you?" His voice carried rare note of uncertainty.

A smile blossomed on Matt's face and he squeezed Mello's hand. "Y—yes, of course!" he said quickly. He forced himself into a sitting position before the treacherous depths of sleep could catch him again, and yawned. "What is it you want to do?"

Mello tugged on his hand and grinned mischievously. "Come on."

Matt slipped out of bed and let himself be dragged to the doorway. Mello cracked the door and furtively pressed his ear against the opening. When he heard nothing, he slipped into the hallway.

Matt balked. Mello turned and looked at him questioningly. "Is this a good idea?" he hissed.

Mello tugged on his hand again. "If you're really my best friend, you'll come with me," he whispered back.

"I'm your best friend," said Matt quickly. Mello responded by grinning and pulling him out of the bedroom.

The two of them slipped through the darkened hallways with Mello in the lead. Matt was nervous. There were monitors patrolling these hallways to make sure that nobody did—well, what they were trying to do—and he didn't know when the next one was due.

They reached the end of the dormitory hallway and slipped into the stairwell. Matt balked the instant the door closed behind him. It was pitch black. Mello had to take his hand and lead him down the stairs. It came as a great relief when they got back on solid ground. Mello shoved the stairwell door open with a clang, and they were into the school proper.

They both laughed in delight. This hall was lined with windows, and the moonlight made it seem almost blindingly bright after the stairwell. "We made it!" exclaimed Mello in a whisper. They snuck through the halls of the main school building, going past classroom after classroom. Matt didn't know whether there were still monitors in the section of the school, which theoretically had no students at night, but the longer they went without seeing one the less likely it seemed. They raised their voices from whispers to murmurs, then to soft speech.

When they came to Mrs. Westbrook's classroom, Mello abruptly ducked inside. When Matt didn't follow immediately, the blonde flashed him a brilliant grin and beckoned him to enter.

Mello went to Mrs. Westbrook's desk. Matt's eyes widened in shock when he pulled the top drawer open.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Haven't you ever wondered what she has in here?" Mello pulled out a double handful of writing utensils. "Hmm…boring." He slammed the door shut and opened the second one. He tossed a pile of papers carelessly on the desk, then a textbook.

Matt gaped. "H—hey, Mello! Pay attention to where you're getting those things from! We have to put them back where they came from, or else we'll get caught!"

Mello waved his worries off and stuck out his tongue. "Caught? We'll be long gone by then." He grinned mischievously. "Hey, watch this!" He grabbed a piece of chalk and scrawled "Mrs. Westbrook has a huge ass" across the board in enormous letters.

Matt was aghast. But before he could say a word, Mello grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him back into the hall. He quailed at the thought of the mess they had left, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

Mello led him into the cafeteria next, all the way into the kitchen area where the food was prepared. Matt had never been back here before. Mello wasted no time in beginning to pull open doors at random. They found pantries full of flour, sugar, breakfast cereal, loaves of bread, and refrigerators filled with dozens of eggs and gallons of milk. Mello whooped in pleasure when he found the huge bottle of chocolate sauce. He hefted the unwieldy thing above his head and put the tip right into his mouth in order to eat some.

"Mmm." His voice was muffled around a mouthful as he dropped the bottle to the ground again. "You have some," he told Matt.

Matt watched the chocolate bottle dubiously. He didn't really want a whole mouthful of chocolate and besides, Mello had just stuck it in his _mouth._ "Uh, I don't—"

Mello ignored him and hefted the chocolate sauce again. The tip of the bottle initially smacked into Matt's lip, and he took an inadvertent step back. The stream of chocolate splashed down his chin and onto his shirt before Mello managed to get it properly aimed into his mouth. Then he squeezed in so much that Matt thought he might choke.

"Nn," he mumbled, struggling to swallow. He wiped his chin off and started toward the sink, but Mello snatched his wrist before he could go more than a step.

"That's such a waste," protested Mello. He brought Matt's hand to his mouth and unabashedly began licking his fingers clean. Matt tried to pull away, but Mello kept his hold firmly. His tongue felt weird, warm and slick and sticky with chocolate. It tickled, and it was uncomfortable and a little bit embarrassing. He wasn't used to being touched, especially not by someone's tongue.

Finally Mello released his hand. He brushed the chocolate off Matt's shirt with one finger and stuck it in his mouth with a grin. Matt was able to escape and wash his hands off at last.

By the time he finished, Mello had crept into one of the pantries and grabbed an armful of chocolate bars. He grinned. "All right, let's go."

Matt's eyes widened. "Mello—they're gonna know it was you if all this chocolate suddenly disappears," he warned.

"I'm not scared," said Mello flippantly. "Are you?" When Matt hesitated, Mello shoved his arm. "You aren't gonna get in trouble. You're a Successor! You can do what you want."

Matt suspected that there was a limit to how far that freedom extended, but he wasn't going to argue with Mello now. "Fine. Can we go back now?"

Mello shook his head. "One more stop!"

Right—clothing. Matt sighed nervously as they made their way to the clothes closet, where all of the House's spare garments were stored. Mello would have been measured and issued his regulation one dozen outfits here when he first arrived. He pushed the door open and turned on the light. Matt sneezed at the sudden brightness.

"Come on," Mello urged him. Matt shuffled inside, squinting, and Mello closed the door behind them. "Wow, look at all this!" There were shelves lining the entire room, with piles and piles of spare clothing on them. They were arranged by size and style, with, and the dressy clothing in its own special section. Mello immediately dropped his armful of chocolate and dashed back amongst the shelves, running his hands over the clothes. When he came back to the front still staring around himself with wide eyes, Matt realized that they might be there awhile. He wished he'd brought his game along, or that he'd had the presence of mind to grab a decent snack from the kitchen. He began aimlessly poking through a pile of jeans to pass the time.

"Hey, what do you think of this?"

Matt turned around. Mello had donned a long-sleeved black shirt made of some shimmery material. The neckline and the sleeves were lined with a lacy edge, and the shirt was gathered at the center of the chest. It looked funny, and it took Matt a minute to figure out why. Then he started to snicker. "Mello, that's a _girl's shirt._" He couldn't imagine how he'd made such a silly mistake; all of the girls' clothes were together on one wall.

Mello didn't appear surprised or embarrassed in the slightest. "Does it look nice on me?" he asked

Matt stopped laughing. "Uh…" He cocked his head to the side. "I guess," he replied uncertainly.

"Here, wait—turn around." Matt did so. There were footsteps and the soft hissing of fabric swishing from behind him. Then Mello said, "Okay, you can look now."

When Matt turned back, Mello had traded his pants for a sheer black skirt that hung down to just above his knees. He had even put on a pair of girls' sandals. With heels. Matt gawked.

Mello smiled at him. "What do you think?"

"You look like a girl," he answered honestly.

Mello giggled and clasped his hands demurely in front of him. "Am I pretty like a girl?" he asked.

Matt hesitated. With the outfit on top of his shoulder-length hair, he really could be mistaken for one. "You're…prettier than most," he said, comparing Mello mentally to several of the girls in their class.

Mello laughed. "Hey, want to know a secret?" he asked.

"Okay," answered Matt.

Mello took a step towards him and stumbled on the shoe. "Man, these are tough to walk on," he commented as he closed the distance between them. "Okay." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Look."

Matt followed his gaze downward and saw that Mello had slipped the skirt low enough for his underwear to be visible. "What am—" Matt trailed off when he saw the pattern on the underwear. It was covered in _butterflies. _"Mello-aaa! You put on girls' underwear!" Mello dissolved into giggles as Matt gaped. He didn't want to stare, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. Mello didn't seem to mind. He spun in place with his skirt halfway down his thighs so that Matt could get a good look. "How…does it feel?" he asked curiously.

Mello pulled the skirt back up and considered this thoughtfully for a moment. "Tight," he answered finally.

Now Matt was starting to giggle too. "They'll never let you get away with wearing _that_!"

"What if I was a Successor?" he asked. "Hey, _you _could wear it if you wanted."

"But why would I ever want to?" Matt demanded.

Mello spun one more time. "I could keep the underwear. No one would know but you."

Matt snickered. "But you wouldn't be able to pee," he pointed out. "You'd have to sit down, like a girl."

Mello's eyes widened. "Oh yeah." Then they both dissolved into a fit of giggles.

A faint sound came from the hallway. They froze. When it repeated itself, they spun to face each other, eyes wide. Then Mello dove to the light switch and turned it off. Matt reeled in the sudden darkness for a moment, but then Mello grabbed his arm and dragged him to the side of the room. Then Mello was hunching down, and Matt understood. He cracked his head on the shelf in his haste to follow Mello into hiding behind piles of shoes.

There were definite footsteps now. They came closer, slowed, then stopped. The light flicked black on. There was a pair of feet standing in the doorway. Matt realized that he wasn't completely hidden, and his heart leapt into high gear. He was sure it was pounding so loudly that the monitor would hear it. He glanced at Mello and saw that the blonde was grinning confidently, his white teeth reflecting the light. When he saw Matt's expression, he shifted silently and squeezed one of Matt's hands.

The feet in the doorway took several steps into the room. There was a faint "Huh." Then a few more footsteps, and the light turned off. The door clicked shut, and there was silence.

Matt and Mello remained perfectly still for a long time. Then Mello whispered, "It's safe now." They crawled out of their hiding place and Matt managed to get the light back on. Mello was standing up awkwardly on the heeled shoes, balancing himself with one hand on a shelf.

"We'd better go back," whispered Matt. Mello nodded. After that he quickly shed the girl's clothes and selected several outfits that he wanted to keep for himself. He wrapped the chocolate bars in a shirt and gave the bundle to Matt to carry, and the two of them crept quickly back to Matt's room.

They collapsed on Matt's bed, surrounded by chocolate bars and black clothing. Mello started laughing, and it spread infectiously to Matt within moments. Soon they were both streaming tears of mirth. Breaking the rules with Mello like that had been incredibly exhilarating. Tonight there had been no studying, no problem sets, and no Near. It was an adventure that belonged only to the two of them.

They sat side by side on Matt's bed, leaning against the wall. Mello scooted close to him and pointed conspiratorially downwards. Matt followed his gaze, and gasped. Mello had slipped his pajama bottoms down enough to show that he was still wearing the girl's panties.

"You kept them?" Matt laughed.

Mello nodded. "Don't tell anyone," he said with a grin. "It's a secret."

Matt grinned back. "Okay."

"Hey…tell me a secret of yours," said Mello. "You know one of mine, so it's only fair."

Matt hugged his knees and hesitated. Their shoulders and upper arms were touching, and Mello was watching him intently. But after huddling together in the clothes closet, the physical contact didn't bother him so much anymore, and he realized with a start that he was actually okay with Mello's eyes on him, even without sunglasses between them. The night had a fresh, boundless feeling to it, like it belonged to them, like absolutely anything was possible. Nothing was off limits right now. After all, he'd just witnessed Mello putting on _girls' underwear_, hadn't he? He leaned closer to Mello and met the other boy's eyes shyly. "You're my best friend too and I—I've never had a best friend to keep secrets with before," he murmured.

Mello's eyes widened. "Really?" When he nodded, Mello laughed in delight. "That means that I'm special! We're special." He wrapped his arms around Matt's shoulders and hugged him tightly. "It's fun to have me as a best friend, isn't it?"

"Y—yeah." It felt good to keep secrets with someone.

"Come on, hug me back," said Mello, butting his head insistently against Matt's neck. Matt awkwardly tugged his arm out from between them and obediently put it around the blonde's shoulders. His hair was all over Matt's neck and chest and it tickled, but it wasn't all that annoying. Actually, it felt kind of nice.

The next thing he knew, Matt was awakened by shouting voices and a flood of House staff rushing into his room. He and Mello had messed up royally by passing out in exhaustion surrounded by fresh clothing and chocolate bars. In addition to being caught for making messes in the kitchen, closet and, most notably, Mrs. Westbrook's classroom—including the note on the board about her ass—it seemed that Mello's absence from his bed at morning walkthrough had touched off a panic among the staff. They'd been searching the House frantically for thirty minutes before entering Matt's room.

An unrepentant Mello received a full-blown lecture from both Mr. Ruvie and Mrs. Westbrook about his conduct, but he escaped much practical punishment because Matt claimed responsibility for the note on the board. Mr. Ruvie dragged Matt into his office and gave him a lengthy talk about how difficult it would be for the House to run if students made a habit out of behavior like that.

Matt understood perfectly, from a logical perspective. But he didn't feel guilty at all.

That turned out to be the first of many nights that Mello snuck into his room.


	4. Chapter 4

"Please give me your impressions of Mello."

Roger glanced questioningly at Quillsh, who nodded almost imperceptibly. He cleared his throat. "Well. He is now undeniably one of the top three students in Wammy's House. He tested out of the remedial and average math sections within three months of his arrival here, and was able to edge out Matt for second in that subject on the most recent round of exams. He has caught up to the other students in the languages he is studying. Currently, if you look at exam scores since Mello joined the elite class in math, he, Near and Matt are virtually identical. The exact ranking fluctuates with every exam, but currently Matt is in the lead by one point, with Mello and Near tied for second. Mello typically excels in—"

"That is enough." L's tone was completely dismissive, and Roger was taken aback. "There is no need to repeat what was already included in your reports. I have memorized the numerical data."

Nettled, Roger fell silent. If he didn't want the information, why had he asked for it? He studied the unkempt detective carefully. L was sitting in his characteristic position, bare feet pulled up underneath him on an oversized armchair. He had spent the whole morning in the surveillance room, watching the students go about their day through the network of bugs that covered the House, but he had since moved to the window of Roger's office. Now he was watching the Wammy's House students play in the courtyard directly below. As Roger watched, he picked up a bite-sized cookie from the table next to him and dropped it into his mouth.

"Perhaps I was not clear." His voice was muffled by the mouthful. "I am inquiring about your impressions of Mello as a person. Those were not included in the reports, and may prove useful."

Roger glanced at Quillsh again, but he was watching L impassively. He marveled, once again, that Quillsh managed to put up with this all the time. Mello's food fights and nighttime escapades might be trying, but surely not as trying as handling L's difficult behavior around the clock must be. "Very well," he said aloud. "Mello is an extremely…high-spirited young man. He is very intelligent, energetic and highly competitive. He is typically happy and outgoing, and has many friends, although he occasionally gets up to some mischief."

"Mischief?" inquired L. His eyes never left the scene below. "Nothing serious, I presume, or you would have notified me?"

"Food fights, paper airplanes, booby-trapping teachers' seats, refusing to stay in his bed at night…" Roger shrugged. "Nothing terribly serious." The night time wandering was the one thing that had caused a stir. Roger had tried to stop that, but Mello insisted that he couldn't sleep in a room all by himself. It seemed that he had shared bedrooms all his life. Since he most often wound up in Matt's bed, Roger had offered to move a second bed in for Mello, but Matt had said flat-out that there was no way in hell he was going to share his bedroom. So the status quo was maintained—Mello ostensibly had his own bedroom, but ended up in Matt's bed almost every night. By now it was tacitly accepted by the staff.

"I see," said L musingly. "And you say that he is sociable. That is…very interesting."

"Is it?" asked Roger.

L poured himself a cup of tea without looking away from the window. Quillsh stepped up to deftly take the teapot away before the cup could overflow. "Indeed it is," he answered mildly. "I was not like that, and neither are Matt and Near." He fell silent for several seconds as he picked sugar cubes out of the bowl that Quillsh was holding and dropped them one by one into his tea. "Roger, how would you characterize the interactions between Matt, Near and Mello?"

Roger was surprised by that question. "They're friends," he answered. It was a turn of events that had truly amazed the whole staff. Near and Matt were the House's two least sociable students. But now Near was in Mello's company all the time, and consequently was perpetually surrounded by his classmates. And Matt's body had been possessed by a smiling, happy, motivated boy. Gone was the unfriendly, lazy introvert that they were used to. Roger had begun to wonder if Matt's bad attitude was simply an indication that he was unhappy; and if so, if it meant that Matt had been unhappy _all the time _before Mello's arrival.

"Close friends?" asked L insistently.

"Virtually inseparable." He took a few steps towards the window and looked out over the scene that L was watching. The three boys were sitting in the shade of one of the tallest trees on the grounds. Near was curled up in his customary position, playing with a toy that wasn't visible from here. As he watched, Mello started pestering him, poking him and pulling at his shirt from behind. Near pulled away and tumbled to the side, his arms pushing at Mello agitatedly. Then Matt tugged Mello's arm back from the flustered Near, and Mello launched himself at him in retaliation. The two of them rolled away from Near, wrestling, a tumbling pile of limbs and hair.

"That is going to make things very…interesting in the future," commented L, slurping at his tea noisily.

"It is?" Roger had the distinct impression that he was missing something important.

"Indeed," said L enigmatically. He ate another cookie, then looked up at Roger for the first time. "I have seen enough. I am ready to test them."

*********************************************

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," said L immediately. He didn't bother to turn around as two sets of footsteps entered the room. Even if he hadn't known who to expect, he would have recognized them instantly. The sound of Watari's footsteps were ingrained deeply in his mind after thirteen years of listening to them, while Roger had a distinctive knock consisting of three sharp taps in rapid succession. The way he turned the handle quickly to minimize its squeak was also indicative of a man who was quite familiar with these surroundings.

L munched on the last of his strawberries and waited patiently as Watari crossed the room and placed a plate laden with a piece of cake into his hand. He picked up the fork and took a bite of it, then another. He was still mulling over the things he had seen during the test. The material came from a case that L himself had solved several months previously. It had taken him a week to crack, but since he had had three other cases active at the time, the number of hours he had spent on this particular crime was less than eighteen. He had made all of the information necessary to solve it available to the students, either in the original file, through a computer program—provided they were bright enough to figure out how to access it, of course—or disguised somewhere in Wammy's House. It was rather stilted compared to solving a real crime, but the students weren't ready to be trusted with cases that could affect peoples' lives yet. While most of those in the elite class were better detectives than their counterparts who handled these crimes in the outside world, he didn't trust their judgment yet. The eldest was only twelve.

The testing period was thirty-six hours long. There were no restrictions placed on the students. How they managed their time was up to them—they could work, eat, sleep, even flat-out waste the time however they saw fit. That in itself was an important component of the test. L had watched them the whole time through live feeds from all corners of the House. The majority of that time had of course been spent observing Mello, but in watching Mello he had seen quite a bit of Matt and Near as well. They had spent much of the time in each others' presences, despite being in competition. It was quite different from anything L had witnessed previously.

Each of the three had his own style. Near's was quite familiar to him by now. He spent up to an hour at a time seemingly doing no more than playing with toys, but then he would turn to his computer and type in a string of perfectly accurate conclusions. He kept to a schedule, allowing himself two regulated four-hour naps throughout the thirty-six hours. Mello was quite a contrast—he paced around the room, muttered to himself, bit his fingernails, ate chocolate bars at an unbelievable rate and occasionally even kicked things in agitation. Then he would sit down and type his ideas at breakneck speed, then leap up again with a fierce grin on his face. He was just as energetic and intensely competitive as Roger had claimed. He didn't sleep during the entire thirty-six hours. L had calculated that the amount of caffeine he had consumed through his chocolate bars was equal to eight cups of coffee, but it was still an impressive feat for a nine-year-old. He had spent a few spare minutes researching whether caffeine consumption at that level would have a long-term adverse effect on someone as young as Mello, but he hadn't found anything bothersome.

Matt was an anomaly this time around. He usually approached testing at a sedate pace, working calmly through the case with regular breaks for naps and video games. This time, he had made the mistake of trying to keep up with Mello. He had stayed up late into the night, staring determinedly at his computer screen even as he yawned and rubbed his eyes, casting the occasional furtive glance at Mello and sighing when the blonde showed no signs of slowing down. The speed of his work had decreased steadily over a three-hour time period until he quite literally passed out, faceplanted into his keyboard and tumbled out of his chair. Mello had been by his side in an instant, laughing, but he helped his groggy and embarrassed friend to the bed for a nap, promising to wake him four hours later. Afterwards, Matt had been back to work with just as much focus as before.

This left L bemused. Matt had always been an untapped well of potential. He had a brilliant mind, but no desire to apply it. He had no friends, no obligations, and no apparent connections to the world. But now all of that had changed, and there was no question that Mello had been the catalyst. Matt's desire for Mello's approval was unmistakable based on the footage he had watched, and it had led him to engage his mind full-force, for perhaps the first time ever.

And it showed. Matt had solved the case first.

Which brought L to a bit of a quandary. Matt had been the first to reach the answer, but it wasn't out of a spirit of competition. It wasn't even for himself. It was for Mello's respect that he had done it. The boy had proven that he had the mind to be ranked number one Successor, but in the same stroke he had demonstrated that his attitude was completely unsuitable.

Mello had logged his solution a mere thirteen minutes after Matt. He hadn't been put off by the odd format of the exam for even a second. There was no question in L's mind that he had earned a place as a Successor.

He met with him personally after the conclusion of the exam. Near and Matt were both stone cold passed out, but Mello hadn't slept a wink. He stared raptly at L when he entered the room, but there was more than hero-worship in his gaze. There was an element of challenge there, like he was sizing him up. L rather liked that; it meant that he was thinking for himself.

What he asked Mello about was the one aspect of the boy's performance that he found somewhat worrisome: he had entered his final conclusion less than a minute after he arrived at it. Mello had simply responded, "I knew I was right." So L had pressed harder, implying that his answer had been incorrect. Mello had become agitated and eventually jumped out of his seat and demanded to know why L was messing with him. He never once faltered or showed the slightest doubt in his answer. That, too, impressed L. He recognized it as a trait that he himself shared: an instinctive certainty of when he had reached the correct answer. It was a skill that detectives of their caliber must possess. A brilliant enough mind could invent theories and alternate possibilities until the end of time; it took a certain special quality to be able to put that aside and act decisively. It was a skill that Mello clearly possessed, and one that L feared Near lacked. He would have shaved an hour off of today's time if he was as willing to commit himself as Mello was.

"Have you reached a decision?"

L was annoyed by Roger's interruption. Moments like this reminded him how much he truly appreciated Watari, a man who knew when to speak and when to hand him a piece of cake, shut the hell up and let him think. "I have," he responded. He deliberately finished his cake before he said anything more. "I am going to make Mello an official Successor."

"Ah," exclaimed Roger happily. "That is wonderful news!"

"Indeed," agreed Watari, speaking for the first time that day. "However, perhaps we should allow L to finish before we celebrate."

"Uh—of course." Roger might not be used to dealing with L, but he understood the message in that statement immediately. He fell silent.

"Mello has demonstrated exceptional intelligence, motivation and decisiveness. His performance today has placed him at least equal to Matt and Near. Matt has shown a work ethic superior to anything I have seen from him until today. Near continues to be thorough and precise. Ah…" He licked the remaining frosting off of his fork, making sure not to leave any traces behind. "They each have such important individual qualities…"

Watari approached and gently lifted another piece of cake onto his plate. "If only you could combine the best qualities of each into a single heir," he commented softly. "Matt's mind, Mello's drive and Near's thoroughness."

L turned to meet the older man's eyes and give him a lopsided smile. "I wouldn't really want that," he said honestly. Watari raised his eyebrows. "Because then I would be obsolete," he explained. Watari's smile was nearly buried in his wrinkles, and Roger laughed out loud.

"But in the end, there's no need to combine all of their best qualities into one person," said Roger. "They're all friends. They can work together some day, if need be."

L's fork dropped to his plate with a clatter. Suddenly he had no appetite, even though the cake was delicious. "No," he said coldly. "That is not possible."

"What? Why not?" demanded Roger.

L twisted in his seat to see him. The older man was blinking in consternation and confusion. L gave him the ghost of a sad smile. He was thinking of a time when he had walked these same hallways with someone he thought of as a best friend, someone who looked up to him enough to adopt his dress style and hair cut. Someone he had once thought would stay by his side and work with him in life, and carry on after his death.

Reality had turned out very differently.

"This situation will change," he said. "Mello and Near will become bitter enemies. It is inevitable for two people who are in competition like they are."

A slight frown touched Roger's features. He was unconvinced. "What about Matt? Will he be enemies with both of them too?"

"No," replied L.

"But you just said that Mello and Near will be enemies because they're—"

"Matt and Mello are not in competition," interrupted L impatiently. "Therefore, Matt and Mello can remain friends. But Mello and Near cannot." Roger was still giving him a very skeptical look. L suppressed a sigh. It was so apparent to him, it was hard to imagine how Roger couldn't see it. But that happened to him frequently. What was crystal-clear truth to L was often murky darkness to others.

"What's the percentage chance for that happening?" asked Roger, his voice still leaking doubt.

L smiled. "One hundred percent," he replied. Roger gasped, and his dubious expression was instantly replaced by amazement. L had only predicted 100% certainty a handful of times in his life, and certainly never in front of Roger. Few things in the world played out that predictably. But this time, as he recalled locked doors and wara ningyo dolls, he knew that there could be no doubt. "Expect disaster."


	5. Chapter 5

"Dammit! We died again!" exclaimed Matt. "Are we ever going to beat this thing?"

Near didn't bother to look up from the toy soldier he was carefully balancing on Mello's knee. He and Mello had both told Matt not to waste his time with the insufficient computer model he had constructed, but he hadn't listened. "This is not a video game," he said disapprovingly. "We did not "die." Matt merely input fatally flawed parameters and got a poor result. That is all."

"…whatever. Same difference."

That comment contributed nothing of value, so Near ignored it. "Perhaps we are approaching this problem incorrectly." The assignment was to design a theoretical airplane capable of reaching particular speeds with certain payloads of cargo on board. It was probably the most difficult challenge they had faced to date. They had been working on it for more than an hour already, and always with the same result—turbulence created enough shear to rip the wings off of the plane before it could reach the desired velocity. "Maybe it would be more effective to—"

"—use a purely mathematical model, right?" finished Mello. His body stiffened as he leaned forward and began scribbling equations on the sheet of paper in front of him.

"Yes," agreed Near. He leaned forward and peered over Mello's shoulder. The equations he was writing were virtually the same ones that Near would have created himself. He approved.

"How does this look?" Mello asked once he was finished. He leaned back, forcing Near to adjust his position again. The bank of equations covered half of the sheet of paper.

"Can I see it?" asked Matt. Near wasn't finished reading it, so he reached out to grasp the edge of the paper before Mello could move it. "I can't see it," said Matt. When Near didn't relinquish his grip, Matt crawled around to sit next to Mello and look at it. "I think it's still missing something," said Mello.

Near agreed. "There is no second-order term for—"

"—change in air pressure with height!" Mello jerked forward again to modify the equations.

"Yes," agreed Near. This was proving very productive, although he wished Mello wouldn't move around so much.

"Hey wait…what is _that_ equation for?" Matt pointed at one of them, interrupting Mello's writing in the process. Near was annoyed. He was slowing things down. Mello batted Matt's hand away and continued writing.

"Do you think that taking this out to four terms is enough?" Mello asked, his pencil hovering in midair.

"Yes, I think four terms is the ideal amount," Near answered.

"Wait, which equation did you just expand?" Matt again, with another annoying and time-consuming question that would not be necessary had he been paying proper attention in the first place. Near ignored it and finished his explanation.

"Four will give us a high enough level of accuracy without becoming too cumbersome to solve."

"Yeah!" Mello clapped his hands, jarring Near's face uncomfortably against his shoulder. "That's what I thought, too! Okay." He put the pencil back to the sheet of paper and began writing new equations, substituting variables and transforming the problem into something that was easier to work with. Near patiently prepared his props while he waited. A set of multicolored stacking rings would be the wing, and the toy soldier could easily serve as the air. He wanted a balloon to stand in for the body of the plane, but unfortunately there were none nearby. He didn't want to take the time to call one of the staff to request it, it would distract Mello. He had a purple rubber ball within his reach; that would just have to do. For now he rested these props in Mello's lap.

Mello finished writing. There was nothing more that could be neglected or approximated. Near inspected the equations carefully, familiarizing himself with them. There were several variables, and he was going to have to consider up to six dimensions at once. He was relieved that Matt was finally being quiet. He picked up the toy soldier and carefully and placed it in the groove where Mello's calves crossed each other.

"Turbulence is going to be our biggest problem," said Matt, completely sidetracking Near's thoughts. The statement was so blindingly obvious that he wondered what in the world Matt had been thinking about up until now if that had only just occurred to him. Perhaps he had lost focus and let his mind wander. Matt was prone to such behavior.

"We only need to find a single set of solutions that won't tear us apart," said Mello. "We can manage that."

Matt made a dissatisfied sound and got to his knees. "Well we should use the computer to model it. What we really need is raw processing power!"

Mello shifted so that he could look at Matt, forcing Near to cling to him tightly to keep from being dislodged. "We've got plenty of processing power between the three of us," he pointed out.

"But—why?" demanded Matt. "It would be a lot faster to use a computer!"

"No." Near couldn't stand it anymore. Every second Matt kept chattering put them one second further away from finding a solution. "Matt's attempts to use the computer thus far have only cost us time."

"That's just because the starting parameters aren't right yet. If we tweak them, the computer will be really useful," Matt insisted.

Useful. Matt shouldn't be allowed to use a word like that when not only had he contributed nothing of value today, but he also managed to occasionally derail Mello's concentration. He pelted Matt with one of his toy soldiers. Matt jerked when it hit his upper arm, and Near quickly looked away before he could catch his gaze. "If Matt wants to be useful, Matt should bring me a balloon," he said.

Matt didn't answer this time. He stood up and walked away without another word. Near was glad that he had finally decided to stop being a pest.

"All right, you ready to tackle this thing?" Mello asked.

"I am ready," answered Near. He settled himself comfortably, balancing his weight with one hand in Mello's hair. Mello leaned back against him and fell silent. All signs of his former restlessness had vanished, indicating that he had focused his mind completely. It meant that the real work could start.

Near began to plot the first equation in his mind. One point, one toy soldier. Ten points, ten toy soldiers joining hands. Fifty points, one hundred, one thousand. An army of toy soldiers marched stoically through six-dimensional space, picking out the physical shape the mathematics represented. The pattern started to become clear, a set of swirls and eddies that never quite repeated themselves. Near disliked these chaotic problems. It was never possible to find an absolute solution, and he would sometimes get lost in the patterns for hours. He lifted his toy soldier speculatively, holding it up so both he and Mello could see it clearly. Mello was picturing the exact same thing in his mind, Near was certain of it. Mello was the sole person who could visualize complicated problems like this one as well as he could. That knowledge pleased him greatly.

"It's pretty," said Mello.

"Yes," agreed Near.

"All right. I'll start by changing the friction parameters of the wing material, you change its shape. Sound good?"

"That is acceptable."

Matt returned at that moment, and wordlessly pushed an inflated balloon into Near's hand. He batted it against the floor excitedly a few times before throwing the ball across the room to lie forgotten in the corner. Now he could concentrate on the problem completely.

He got down to business. He stacked the colored rings carefully, red orange yellow green blue purple, and took a brief moment to let them transform into the wing within his mind. Then he balanced the plastic figurine on top of it. He visualized the toy soldiers marching over it in swirls and eddies. He increased their speed, putting more demands on the wing, and kept it up until it was too much. The wing broke away from the plane's body, tearing the whole structure apart. Catastrophic failure had occurred at merely half of the target speed.

Patiently, Near tweaked the shape of the wing and started over. He braided some of Mello's hair as he worked through the problem. He was careful to keep the toy soldier within Mello's reach, just in case he wanted it, although Mello seemed to be able to use props just fine by merely looking at them. He ended with catastrophic failure again, and returned to the beginning. He soon found some values that brought him closer to success. As he iterated the process, larger patterns started to become clear. He could see the problematic vortices that led to stress and structural failure, and the parameters that created them and avoided them. It was a chaotic pattern in and of itself, a fractal that repeated on smaller and smaller scale. Charting the boundaries between success and failure was nearly as satisfying as completing a jigsaw puzzle.

Mello shifted, distracting him slightly. "Are you done?" he asked. "I have some good values."

"I have some good values but I am not finished," replied Near.

"Don't obsess," said Mello warningly.

"I want to explore some more patterns—"

"Near! It's a fractal. You can do that forever without reaching the end." He took hold of Near's fingers and unwound them from his hair. "We have to combine what you figured out with what I figured out. Okay?"

Near blinked unhappily. He wanted to continue what he was doing. His mind hungered for it. But Mello had made a valid point in reminding him that they hadn't yet completed the problem. All of his thinking would go to waste if they weren't able to fully solve the puzzle. "All right," he agreed.

Mello let his hands go and instead pulled the braid Near had made to the front of his face so he could see it. "Wow, Near, you're up to eight strands now?" He ran his fingers lightly over it. "It looks kind of like the problem, doesn't it? If you could smash it into two dimensions, I mean. Did you do that on purpose?"

"No," answered Near. He peeked around Mello's shoulder and observed the shape that his fingers had unconsciously made. "Yes," he added, somewhat surprised. "It does look like that." He was pleased. "Mello, you pictured it the same way as me."

"Is there any other way to picture it?" demanded Mello. "It looks how it looks."

Near smiled widely. Mello was speaking the truth, of course, but he wasn't used to having anyone else who could comprehend the things that he could. He was very happy that they could work together. It was much more satisfying and efficient than trying to work with other students, whose thoughts were slow and disorganized.

After that it only took them a few minutes to put their results together. They came up with three effective solutions.

"Ah, finally!" Mello stretched, jarring Near from his shoulders. He grabbed a chocolate bar from the pile that Near had turned into a pyramid and peeled it open. Near immediately set about rearranging the remaining bars into a more symmetrical pattern. Mello took one bite, then flopped back, forcing Near to sit down so that he could support his weight. "That was a good one. It's satisfying to finish, isn't it?" He snapped off another bite.

"Yes," agreed Near.

"Would you take that braid back out?" he asked. "Matt can't handle ones that are this complicated, and he ends up pulling my hair."

"Yes." Near began doing as he asked. The braid served no further purpose now that the problem was solved. Once he was finished, he found that he had nothing to do with his hands. He wanted his ball back and was about to tell Matt to get it for him, but then he realized that Matt wasn't there anymore. He chided himself for losing track of his surroundings in his intense concentration. No matter how interesting the patterns were, a good detective must pay equal attention to the concrete world.

"Where is Matt?" he inquired.

"Dunno," answered Mello. "He left after you were mean to him."

Near frowned. "I was not mean to him."

"You were," argued Mello. "You said he was useless except for bringing you toys."

Somehow Mello's movements had caused Near's props to end up outside of his reach. His hands itched for something to do, so he began twisting Mello's shirt around his fingers. "That is not what I said. I said that it would be useful if he brought me a balloon. That is not the same as saying that he is useless if he does not bring me a balloon. Those statements are contrapositives, one does not imply the other." He clutched at Mello's clothing in agitation. He couldn't believe that someone of Mello's intellect could make such a basic mistake in logic. Five minutes ago he had been visualizing six-dimensional equations in his mind!

Mello laughed. "But when you say it in a social situation like that, that's exactly what it implies," he said.

"Why does the meaning change depending on the situation? That doesn't make sense." Near's fingers tightened spasmodically against Mello's stomach.

"But it does." Mello jerked. "Ah—Near! Near, that tickles. Near—" He writhed and grabbed Near's wrists. "Stop!" It took some effort for Near to reassert control over his hands. Mello released his them and squirmed around so that his face was resting against Near's shoulder. "You can play with my hair, just don't tickle me," he said.

Near fastened his fingers in Mello's hair. "What Mello is saying does not make sense," he declared disapprovingly. "It is logically flawed."

Mello snorted. "Lighten up, would you? This is why people think you're mean, when you don't intend to be."

"Those people are very silly," declared Near.

"You just called Matt silly!"

"He is," said Near firmly. "Isn't that why you chose to remain here and solve the problem with me?"

"I stayed with you because I like working with you better. Matt uses the computer too much, and I don't like it."

That answer mollified Near somewhat, but he still wasn't quite prepared to let the illogical statements slide. "Mello says strange things where Matt is concerned," he observed disapprovingly.

"You're annoyed with me aren't you." He didn't pause for an answer. "But you're still playing with my hair. You're a lot more fun than Matt." He lifted his face from Near's shoulder, and Near quickly swiveled his eyes the other direction. "He gets annoyed with me if I touch him at all. Don't you think he's a great big party pooper? But you aren't."

Near remained silent. He was uncertain of what kind of response he should make, and he was also nervous. Most conversations that started this way ended up being very uncomfortable by the end. He could already feel Mello's gaze burning hotly against his face.

"Will you look at me today?" Mello's voice was soft as he wrapped his arms around Near's neck.

Near twirled his own hair around his finger nervously. "No," he said.

He felt, rather than heard Mello's unhappiness. "Why not?"

Near squirmed. He had answered this question before, and he didn't know why Mello kept asking it. The only logical conclusion was that Mello distrusted his answers, though he was telling the truth and gave the same reasons every time. "Mello's eyes are painful. They are very hot and loud and yellow. It is hard to look at them."

"Now that's really mean," replied Mello. He grabbed Near's hand from his head and held it tightly. Near hunched in on himself and immediately began twirling his own hair with the other hand. "My eyes are painful to look at, hmm? Am I that ugly?"

Near gave this question due consideration. "No, Mello is not ugly."

"Then what's the problem?" he exclaimed. "Anyway, you're the one who isn't making any sense. My eyes. They're blue, not yellow."

"They are blue. They feel…feel yellow." Near twisted his hair in frustration. He didn't know how else to explain it. "Near has more trouble with words than most people."

There was a long silence from Mello. "Near, you don't feel things like other people, do you…?" He lifted his head from Near's shoulder and tried unsuccessfully to catch his eyes again. "No one's ever called my eyes loud before." Near could see his lips stretching into a smile out of the corner of his eyes. "My mouth, yes. But not my eyes."

Near shrugged the best he could with Mello's arms hampering him. "I do not know how other people feel things."

"You know how _you_ feel things. I want to know." He laughed. "I want to!" Then he made an angry growling sound. "But it's really unfair. You're the only person in this whole place that can still beat me. But you won't look me in the eyes. Why not? Matt does it all the time. Near—do you hate me?"

Near's finger had knotted in his hair so tightly that it ached. "No," he answered. "Near likes Mello."

"Then why—why?" Mello pushed forward, tipping Near onto his back within moments. "We've been friends for a year. Look at me?"

Near shook his head. "No," he groaned. But Mello had seized both sides of his face with his hands.

"It won't hurt," he promised. "We're friends. It can't." He forced his face towards him, and Near found himself with little choice but to meet his eyes.

Mello's face.

The world stopped. Tens, hundreds, no, _thousands _of patterns played themselves out on that face. Near tried to absorb them all, but it was too much, too much. Twin yellow daggers lanced into him with enough force to make him gasp. A great rushing sound rose to fill his ears, drowning out all other noises within moments. His vision blurred and fragmented as Mello's loud eyes set every nerve ending in his body on fire.

The world vanished.

Sound slowly began to return. Near heard Mello asking if he was all right. Then touch began to sort itself out, and he felt Mello trying to restrain his hands, which were twitching and jerking of their own accord. He grimaced as he gradually regained control of them and forced them to remain still at his sides. His vision cleared and remained mercifully free of Mello's face.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Mello pressed the toy soldier back into his hands. "I didn't think that would happen. I didn't realize you hate me that much. I'll leave you alone."

Near slowly managed to right himself. His mouth worked silently for a moment as he tried to remember how to speak. "N—no. That is unnecessary. Why are you leaving?"

"What? You ask why I'm leaving, after that? You obviously can't stand to be around me, now that the problem is solved!"

"That is false," said Near. He wondered how Mello had arrived at that conclusion when he hadn't said anything of the sort. "There are more problems to be solved," he reminded him pointedly.

"Oh, fine, so I can only stay if I make myself useful?" Mello stamped his foot, startling Near. "I'm going to go finish the rest with Matt!" He stormed out of the room.

Near blinked as he stared intently at the tiny soldier. Mello, despite his intellect, could act so inexplicably. Most people did, in Near's experience. They let themselves be ruled by emotion frequently, even when it was quite clear that it was illogical, and even when it was apparent that the consequences of doing so would be detrimental to them. Near didn't have that problem. He was aware that he experienced and interpreted many things differently than other people, but he had always thought that it was simply because he had a superior intellect to them. However, Mello's irrational behavior cast doubt on that theory. Mello was, if not his intellectual equal, at least quite close to it, yet he displayed the same erratic behavioral tendencies that people of vastly inferior intelligence did. Near decided that he would need to reconsider all of his observations carefully and see if he could discern a different potential cause for the discrepancy between himself and others.

That would have to be left to another time, though. He still had half a problem set to complete, and he would now be solving it on his own. He reclaimed his stack of rings and moved on to the next question.


	6. Chapter 6

Mello stalked through the orphanage halls until he located Matt flopped over on one of the couches in a study room, playing his game boy. "Matt!"

Matt glanced up at him for a brief fraction of a second, but didn't pause his game. "Yeah."

Mello crossed the room to stand in front of him imperiously, arms crossed, but much to his annoyance, Matt just kept on playing. "Near was just really mean to me," he complained.

"Was he." The words technically constituted a question, but the tone suggested that he wasn't at all interested in hearing the answer. Mello forged on anyway.

"He wouldn't look me in the eyes. And then when he finally did, he freaked out! And after I helped him with that problem, too!"

Matt's eyebrow raised almost imperceptibly. "Too bad you decided to do things his way, then," he said noncommittally.

"I didn't do anything _his way_!" insisted Mello, glaring. He jumped on the couch next to Matt and leaned in close, but his friend still wasn't paying him any attention. "Not you too!" he exclaimed in exasperation. He hated it when Matt got into these ornery moods. "You're the one who's always supposed to be nice to me!"

"I'm being nice," snapped Matt, his tone negating the statement even as it left his lips.

"You aren't!" Mello was swept up in a sudden wave of irritability. He only wanted one thing, and it was something that, by all rights, should be his for the taking. For a moment he was absolutely furious with the world for contriving to keep it from him. He smacked the game boy out of Matt's hands. "Pay attention to me!"

The game bounced from the couch cushion to the floor, the impact causing the sound to cut out immediately. Matt gave him a stare composed of disbelief and disgust before he jumped down to retrieve it. "Why'd you have to do that?" he demanded. "You really suck today."

Mello bit his lip, wounded. Matt climbed back onto the couch and sat cross-legged facing away from him. He turned his game boy back on and proceeded to play it as if Mello wasn't even there.

It was time to change tack. Mello knelt behind his friend and rested his hands on his shoulders. Matt tried to shrug him off, but he ignored it and ran his hands lightly up and down his back. "Matty, I'm sorry I hit your game boy. Don't be mad." No response. "Come on, Matty. Matty! Sit normally, would you?" Still nothing. Mello changed his touch to spider-fingers and expanded the area he was touching to include his sides and arms. Matt wasn't ticklish, but if he kept this up long enough, he would start to squirm.

Sure enough, it took less than five minutes for Matt to relent. "All right all right, fine!" He pulled out of Mello's grip and faced forward on the couch. Mello bounced to his knees and peered at him intently.

"Matty, are you mad that I worked on the problem with Near instead of you?"

Matt remained silent for a long moment. His expression revealed nothing, but that in itself was a sign that he was unhappy. "It wasn't exactly the best part of my day," he finally answered.

"I was already thinking the problem through that way. I wanted to finish what I started."

"Yeah. Sure." Matt carried on playing his game.

Mello swallowed an aggravated growl and kept his tone sweet. "You know I can't keep up with you on the computer," he said ingratiatingly. "You're much better than me. I would've slowed you down."

Matt glanced at him sidelong, then quickly swiveled his gaze forward again when he found Mello watching him. This strategy would only work, of course, if Matt had gone on to solve the problem on his own. Mello held his breath.

The gamble paid off. Matt's expression went from aggressively blank to displaying a tiny smile. The flattery had mollified him somewhat. He didn't complain when Mello sat down next to him with their shoulders touching. "So how'd you solve the problem?" He was aware as he said it that he might be setting himself up for a ten-minute explanation of programming and code that he didn't want to hear, but such things were sometimes necessary to maintain Matt's mood.

"Who says I solved it?" asked Matt, sounding amused.

Mello grinned as he watched the progression of Matt's character across the game screen. "I know you, Matty. You solved it. How'd you do it?"

Matt shrugged. "Hacked Boeing."

_"What?"_ Mello jerked upright and stared at his friend, aghast. "You _hacked Boeing? _The plane company?"

"That's the only Boeing I know," answered Matt noncommittally. "They obviously know how to design wings, it's what they do." He jerked his head at a pile of papers on the arm of the couch that Mello had heretofore ignored. Mello snatched them and began quietly looking through. Blueprints, diagrams, technical specs. He slowly transferred his attention back to Matt's face.

"I can't believe you did that," he said, his voice hushed. "Mr. Ruvie will kill you!"

"Nah." Matt gave a flippant shrug. "Mr. Ruvie won't know. I'll fake this stuff up a little before I turn it in."

"But he'll see it on the internet records!"

Matt was already shaking his head. "I won't get caught. I can outsmart the monitor programs when I want to."

"But you got caught last week for snooping into Temper's background!" Mello reminded him in exasperation.

To his surprise, Matt just kept grinning. "Yep," he acknowledged. "But note that I _didn't _get caught accessing all of Mr. Ruvie's personal information. His first name is Roger, by the way."

Mello's jaw dropped. Mr. Ruvie's—no, _Roger's _first name had been one of the holy grails of Wammy's students since the day he arrived! And Matt had found it, just like that. It was a brilliant strategy, actually—getting caught periodically on something that didn't matter so that the adults mistakenly thought they knew the extent of his skills. For a moment Mello sized him up with new eyes, reevaluating some of the assumptions he had made about his friend. He had thought Matt was lazy, but now it occurred to him that perhaps he just didn't bother with subjects that bored him. And he was Matt, with his uniquely Matt attitude—most things bored him. But he had clearly outstripped even Mello when it came to computers, his chosen area of interest. Apparently all those hours spent in front of the screen hadn't been whittled away on gaming after all.

"Roger," he mused aloud. Then he laughed. "I should call him that the next time I see him."

"That would go over well," said Matt wryly. "Hey, how many solutions did you and Near come up with?"

It took Mello a moment to bring his mind back to the plane design problem. "Three," he answered.

Matt nodded absently. "Then I'll turn in four."

Mello stiffened, glaring daggers. "But you cheated! You had better not turn in more than us!"

Matt's game boy trilled out a victory sound. "Ha! New high score." He saved the game and switched it off, then put it aside on the couch with a grin. "I was just kidding. I'll turn in two." He took in Mello's pout. "Mel. I was joking, okay?"

Mello wasn't in the mood for his sense of humor right now. He turned away and frowned. "Near was mean today."

Matt sighed in resignation. "What happened with Near?" he asked, finally giving in to the inevitable.

"He still won't look me in the eyes, Matty," said Mello quietly. "Why won't he?" "Oh, Mello…did you force him again?"

Mello avoided the question and kicked at the couch in frustration. "He must hate me a lot," he exclaimed agitatedly. "Why does he hate it that much?"

"Mello." There was a trace of exasperation in Matt's tone. "Near doesn't hate you. He _likes _you. I would know, okay? He genuinely dislikes me." Mello turned and looked at him sharply. "You want to see Near be mean? Mean is what he was to me earlier when he told me to go fetch him toys." He fixed Mello with a pointed look. "Not that you cared about that."

Mello narrowed his eyes impatiently. Why was Matt talking about himself? They were supposed to be talking about Mello just now. "Then why is he like that? No one else treats me like that. I try to be so nice to him, and he still…" Mello shook his head in frustration. "He still disapproves at me all the time, and he won't look at me, and—I can't figure it out!"

Matt smiled wanly at him. "Mel, Near isn't like other people. You said he freaked out, right? I've known him for longer than you, and I don't think he can help that. He doesn't…" He trailed off for a moment, grasping after words. "He doesn't see things the way we do. Besides…" He leaned forward and sought out Mello's eyes, a frown now creasing his brow. "Why do you need Near to look into your eyes so badly? I'll do it anytime, you know." His cheeks flushed slightly and he hugged himself in self-deprecating embarrassment, but he didn't break eye contact.

There it was. Mello had finally managed to crack Matt's façade of distant aloofness and turn his attitude around a full 180 degrees. But today the glow of accomplishment that normally accompanied that was very short-lived. "You sure weren't a minute ago," he said sourly.

Matt's smile faltered uncertainly. "I was mad at you then," he mumbled.

Mello heaved a sigh. He suddenly felt immensely bored and wearied by the prospect of continuing this conversation. Usually it provided endless entertainment to take Matt from back and forth between jealousy and happiness, but today it felt worn out and confining. What was the point of playing with Matt like this when Near's approval continued to elude him? He had made friends with everyone in the House. People competed for his time, he was more popular than he could handle—all except for Near. Near would blithely ignore him as if he wasn't even there, or act like he was no different than any other student at Wammy's House. He probably could've let it go it if it were anyone else. But what made it truly infuriating was that Near was the only person who still posed a solid threat to his rank.

Matt was watching the expressions pass over his face in rapid succession. Now he looked worried. "Hey…Mello, are…are we still best friends?" he asked softly.

"Of course we are," answered Mello absently. He was trying to formulate a strategy for getting Near to like him better.

Matt's hands sought out one of his hands and clutched it. "Do you like Near better than me now?"

"No."

"Do—"

Mello ground his teeth in frustration. "Matty, shut up would you? I'm trying to think!"

Matt's expression was stricken for the barest fraction of a second before a mask of indifference descended. He dropped Mello's hand and squirmed off of the couch. "Fine." He picked his game boy up and left the room.

* * *

"Near, you have to wash your hair."

"I am fine."

"No, you have to wash it before you can go!"

"Near's hair does not need—"

"Yes it does!" An exasperated sigh. "I promised Mr. Ruvie I'd make sure you did it, you know." A short pause. "All right, I'll do it for you. Move your hands. Near! Move them."

In the adjacent shower stall, Matt hugged himself unhappily. Stupid Near, unable to bathe himself properly. Stupid Mr. Ruvie, letting someone else take over the job for him. And most of all, stupid Mello for agreeing to do it! Though for all he knew, Mello could have actually _volunteered_, not just agreed. Matt brushed suds forlornly out of his own hair with his fingers. Mello had never washed _his _hair. Why not? They were supposed to be best friends.

Mello's laughter echoed throughout the bathroom. Matt's lips twisted downwards unhappily as he acknowledged how badly he wanted to trade places with Near right now.

He dried himself off and got dressed as quickly as he could. When he hurried out of the stall, he almost ran straight into Jury. The husky blonde started back from the look on his face.

"Um…oh, Matt—how are—"

Matt dashed past him and through the doorway before he could continue. He was upset that Jury had said his name and that Mello and Near might have heard it and realized he was in there. He couldn't shake the image of Mello and Near starting to giggle conspiratorially when they learned that Matt had overheard them without being invited.

No, that was just paranoia. Near had probably never giggled conspiratorially with anyone in his whole life. And Mello wasn't _deliberately _excluding him…right?

He scurried through the halls, head down, until he could duck into his bedroom. His thoughts were changing course again. Now he was starting to picture Mello and Near realizing that they had inadvertently bruised his feelings and starting to feel guilty, and coming to his room to apologize. No, not the two of them—just Mello. Matt couldn't care less what Near did with the rest of his evening; he'd prefer it if Mello showed up alone. He'd say, "I'm sorry, Matty, don't be mad," and try to give him a hug. Matt would stay annoyed, so Mello would apologize harder, hugging him tightly through the sheets. "I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have..."

Shouldn't have what? Matt asked himself silently. Shouldn't have done Mr. Ruvie a favor? Shouldn't have helped Near out? Matt didn't know, he couldn't put his finger on it. It was probably one of those irrational that Near would lecture him about if he articulated it aloud.

He crawled into bed. It was nearly winter, and the air was chilling his damp hair. He pulled the covers over himself without bothering to get into pajamas first—some part of him rebelled from the idea, Near always wore them—but he still wasn't warm. He missed the days when Mello used to come by his room at night regularly. These days it was anyone's guess. Mello and Near were always running around together, sitting in corners in hallways and odd study rooms as they worked on the problem sets. Matt tried to follow them, to work with them, but it was next to impossible. They would sit huddled together in complete silence for half an hour or longer. If they spoke at all, it was no more than a few cryptic words, practically a code. It meant nothing to Matt. If he asked what they were talking about, he was ignored. He felt so excluded, so far behind that he verged on despair. Did they really think that much alike? Was he really so much of an outsider? Time and time again, he was forced to leave them to their work and solve the problems by himself. It made school work extremely unpleasant. His rankings had started fluctuating again, and Mr. Ruvie had resumed getting on his case about it.

Matt curled up forlornly in his bed. It felt far too large without Mello in it, now. He imagined Mello helping Near to bed, tucking him in and then curling up beside him. He imagined Mello's head resting against Near's chest, and Near's fingers winding through his hair. His lips pressed together in a thin line and he felt tears prickling at the backs of his eyes. Was that actually happening? Was Mello best friends with Near now? Had Matt been forgotten? Was there nothing he could do to make Mello want his friendship again? If he couldn't keep up—if he couldn't think like Mello—maybe he _was _useless. Maybe L would kick him out of the Successorship and out of the House. After all, he and Mello shared a letter. There was no need for two M's. That thought chilled him to the core in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature. He tried to turn his mind away, but he couldn't think of anything else.

And despite his panic, Matt still hoped. Mello could walk through his door at any second. He could slip into bed and curl up against him and make everything better again. Maybe everything Matt had been thinking was nothing more than his worried imagination. He smiled softly to himself and pictured it. Mello's warm presence, Mello's blonde hair, Mello's fingers lacing through his.

It took a long time before he finally acknowledged that Mello wasn't going to come. His face crumpled back into a bitter mask of unhappiness and tears began to flow.

* * *

Roger waited impatiently in the doorway of L's observation room. The unkempt genius was watching his bank of monitors with every evidence of complete absorption. They showed a variety of Wammy's House students, but the central one was focused on Mello and Near. Near was playing with a model airplane while Mello sat behind him and ran his fingers through his hair. Periodically, Mello leaned forward to whisper something below the threshold of the bugs' detection into his ear.

"Ahh," said L softly. "Fascinating."

Roger wished he wasn't staring at the screen with such avid interest. He tried to exchange glances with Quillsh, but the man was staring stonily forward. "Is that so," he said aloud, keeping his voice noncommittal.

"Indeed," agreed L. He turned his attention to a smaller monitor that showed Matt flopped sideways across a reclining chair, intent on his video game. "I had deduced that something like this was happening based on Matt's exam scores, which have once again become as erratic as they were before Mello's arrival."

He sounded incredibly pleased with himself, and that grated on Roger's nerves. This wasn't a case, these were _children. _Roger would be the first to admit that his personality was far from ideal for raising kids, but at least he wasn't sitting here congratulating himself over Matt's predicament. The happy, normal boy that had possessed Matt's body for a time had vanished again, leaving the unfriendly, game-playing introvert they all thought of as Matt Classic in his place. He was utterly morose these days, anyone could see that. The staff whispered about it worriedly. Yet L was discussing it as dispassionately as an academic exercise. It didn't sit well with Roger at all.

"You predicted that Mello and Near would end up as enemies," he reminded L. It took all of his self-control not to sound smug as he reminded the genius that his 100% prediction hadn't come to pass.

L turned his head and fixed him with his wide, child-like eyes. "Yes, that will still happen," he said earnestly. "The better friends they become in the interim, the worse their enmity will be later. It's as a very wise man once said. 'Exes and former best friends make the bitterest enemies.'" Then he turned back to the screen, effectively dismissing Roger.

That was aggravating. Furthermore, Roger didn't recognize the quote and now he was going to have to reveal his ignorance. He cleared his throat. "Who said that?"  
L grinned toothily and took a bite of the donut Watari had left for him. "Actually," he said around his mouthful. "It was me."

Quillsh grinned, but Roger just rolled his eyes. He looked back at the screen. It seemed impossible that Mello and Near would end up enemies. They were so close—too close, in fact; the amount of physical contact that passed between those two had the whole staff on edge. If they were a little older, Roger would have been seriously worried. As it was, he feared for finding a way to break up that dynamic before it was too late. He had enough problems to deal with regarding those two without worrying about an eventual falling-out between them. He wished he could forget L's prophecy of doom, but knew he couldn't. Those words had been with him ever since the first time L had uttered them. It was like he'd put a curse on Mello and Near, and now all Roger could do was watch and dread the day it came true.

L shoved more donut into his mouth and chewed noisily as he watched the monitor. "What a precocious child. Mello has discovered the act of flirtation." His demeanor was completely casual, his tone conversational. "Though perhaps that is not surprising. He will be turning eleven soon. That is a perfectly reasonable age for—"

"Near is _nine_," interrupted Roger stonily. His tone could have frozen an entire ocean. He had no desire to hear L's rambling speculations turn to the subject of Mello's impending puberty. It was bad enough listening to the tasteless jokes from certain of the staff, but it was downright indecent for L to talk about this as plainly as if he were discussing the weather. Actually, it was disgusting. Roger felt slightly ill.

Quillsh shot him a warning look for his interruption, but L seemed unperturbed. "In any case, I am now closer to making a decision about who will be my heir." Roger saw Quillsh's eyebrows shoot up at that statement. It seemed that he was just as startled as Roger. Roger had always wondered if L could still catch his oldest friend by surprise after so many years spent together; now he knew. "Matt will be officially designated as third in line for the Successorship."

"And numbers two and one?" asked Roger eagerly.

L's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. "Well…about that. I can't decide between Mello and Near yet." He demolished a second donut in just three bites. "The correct solution to that problem has yet to become clear."


	7. Chapter 7

The fateful day began just like any other: shower, breakfast, morning classes. Then it was time to study. Matt was being moody again—par for the course these days—so Mello was going to work with Near. This involved carrying him from the classroom to the study room on his back, also a regular event. As he padded down the hallway, bare feet almost silent on the tile floor, he wondered idly what Near would do once he was on his own as a detective. He couldn't walk for more than thirty meters without needing assistance. Mello had always given him a pass for that, since it wasn't his fault he had a weak body, but now he wasn't so sure. A shortcoming was a shortcoming. Criminals wouldn't go easy on him just because he was physically frail. Would he hire an assistant to carry him around and attend to his needs? Or would he get a wheelchair or crutches then? He had absolutely refused such assistive devices thus far. He counted on the charity of those around him to carry him from place to place. Although, now that Mello was thinking about it, he doubted Near saw it as charity. In Near's mind, there as no chance that someone might refuse. He was used to being waited on constantly, whether it was having his food cut for him or his toys brought to him. For the first time, it occurred to Mello that that was actually a pretty selfish way to live.

"Hey Near," he began. "How are you going to investigate crime scenes when you're a detective? Are you going to get Watari to carry you around?"

"I will not investigate personally," responded Near. "It would be highly reckless for me to show my face at an actual crime scene. I will send assistants to collect physical evidence, which I will review. The best use of L's time is to comprehend the overall picture, not to look for clues that assistants can find."

"Hm." Mello found that answer far from satisfying. It wasn't an overtly flawed idea, but it was so…_cowardly._ He felt certain that the current L would never accept that way of doing things. "Well then, how will you make sure your assistants don't miss something valuable?" he asked. "You can't trust some policeman from some random place to be as observant as you."

"Because that assistant will be you, Mello. I--"

Mello stopped dead in his tracks. "What?"

Near was still talking, oblivious. "—trust you not to miss valuable clues. And Watari will not need to carry me as long as you are around. You have demonstrated that you are very effective at taking me to where I need to be." He tugged on Mello's hair, a unique gesture of his that Mello had come to associate with extreme happiness. "You are the best prop. Mello is even better than a finger puppet."

Mello was frozen to the spot. He felt the words like knives through his gut. His hands were shaking, his breath burning in his throat. The enormity of what had just been revealed overwhelmed him. Near thought of him as his _assistant,_ his _prop._ He truly believed that some day he was going to be ordering Mello around, using him as a human stevedore and sending him out to handle the trivial tasks that weren't worthy of L's attention! Better than _a finger puppet?_

He clawed at Near's hands and arms until the younger boy released his grip on his shoulders and dropped onto the cold stone floor. Near curled in on himself pathetically, wrapping his arms around his knees. "I am in pain now. Why did Mello do that?"

"Shut up!" screamed Mello. He barely felt the smarting sting in his scalp where Near had torn out a chunk of blonde hair. "I'm not your _assistant_ and I'm not your _prop_ and I'm not one of your toys! I'm a Successor too! We're tied, Near! Tied!" His fury was overwhelmed by an enormous sense of betrayal. It was so powerful that for a moment he was at a loss for words, and afraid he would humiliate himself by bursting into tears on the spot. "I thought we were friends! How can you say something so insulting?"

Near had struggled into a sitting position and was winding his hair around one finger agitatedly. "I did not insult Mello! I complimented Mello!"

"Yeah right!" It came out as a shriek. His heart was hammering at a million miles a second, and he was so furious and hurt that a wave of lightheadedness washed over him. "You can get to your own damned study room! I'm not your prop! Screw you!" He whirled and ran as fast as he could in the other direction, and left Near sitting there in the middle of the empty hallway.

He was halfway to his bedroom when the tears came. They burst out of him against his will, blurring his vision and tearing a choked sob out of him. He didn't dare try to make it all the way to his own bedroom without being seen. He flew into the nearest safe haven, Matt's room. There he collapsed on the bed and buried his face in a pillow and sobbed. It hurt. It _hurt,_ he couldn't ever remember a time when someone had betrayed him this badly. Had he and Near ever been friends? Or had he merely fooled himself into believing that they were because he couldn't stomach the idea of being snubbed by the other smartest kid at Wammy's? All those times they had sat with their fingers entwined, all the times that Near had braided his hair, all those hours spent with Near's chin resting on his shoulder—was that worth nothing to him? Or was he just doing it because it was more convenient than getting some other toy? Mello screamed into the pillow. That was it, that was all it had ever been, to Near—Mello was just one more toy. Near had never respected him or cared about him, but he'd been stupid enough to care about Near, to deceive himself into thinking that this was a two-way friendship, to _trust _him. And Near had betrayed him. He didn't know whether he should be more furious with Near or himself.

He didn't know how long he had been there when Matt walked in. He didn't even care whether the redhead was alone or not, or what he would think of this scene. He was just letting the sobs wrack his body, no longer concerned with how loud he was or who overheard. Matt said something, but he wasn't listening, and then the video game music stopped and hands were grabbing at him. He jerked away to the opposite corner of the bed, punching the covers, but Matt's hands were back on him again, pulling him in, pinning his arms to his sides, restraining him. Mello grabbed back this time, tightened his arms around Matt until he gasped in pain, buried his head against his shoulder and sobbed afresh. At first Matt was asking what was wrong, and then he was fumbling for Mello's rosary in the secret hiding place in his nightstand. He draped it over Mello's neck, and then held him wordlessly.

It took a long time before Mello was able to calm down enough to gasp out an explanation of what had driven him to that state. Matt murmured soft, reassuring platitudes. They were meaningless, and Mello knew it, but he didn't care. He just wanted to be held right now and not abandoned. Matt petted his hair and kept his arms around him, for once anything but stingy with physical contact. Eventually Mello's tears stopped, and he clung to Matt in exhaustion.

"Matty," breathed Mello. "You're still my friend, right?"

"Of course," replied Matt.

Mello closed his eyes. "You still like me, right?" he asked plaintively.

"Of course!" exclaimed Matt. "Always."

The words made Mello feel better, even though he knew that it was cheating to ask Matt to say them. He didn't care. He stayed there in his best friend's embrace for a long time. Dusk fell outside. Mello didn't feel like himself at all, he felt fragile and vulnerable and weak. He didn't move until he heard not only his own, but Matt's stomach growling. Even then, he could only leave the room when Matt held his hand and led the way. They went through the back hallways, avoiding populated areas as much as possible, and ate an isolated dinner together on the same side of the table so that he could lean against Matt's shoulder. He kept the rosary with him, even though it meant running the risk of getting picked on by one of his overwhelmingly atheistic peers. It reassured him, and he was deeply pleased that Matt had thought to give it to him even though he didn't believe.

Then they snuck back to Matt's room and crawled into bed. Matt let Mello rest his head on his chest underneath the covers. Exhaustion from the emotional fireworks of the day caught up to him quickly, and he was asleep within minutes.

* * *

The next morning, Mello's hurt had crystallized into fury. He could no longer trust anything Near said or did. Nearly two years of association—what he would once have called "friendship," but now he knew better—had been obliterated in an instant.

So Near thought Mello was inferior to him? He would prove otherwise! Their competition had been a friendly one thus far, each willing to acknowledge when the other had won and learn from it; but no more. Now Mello was playing to win. His pride couldn't settle for anything less.

His anger with Near spilled out in rants to Matt, to his other classmates, to anyone who would listen. But no matter how much he vented, the resentment would come back just as strongly a few hours later. He was furious all the time, and just the thought of Near was enough to set it off. He planned the ways he was going to get back at the white-haired boy, pictured gloating smugly when he beat him on the next exam, imagined L announcing that he was the first Successor in line, pictured the expression on Near's face on the day that L named Mello as his heir. He was M, after all, he came before N!

Yet other times, all he felt was an overwhelming sadness at the end of their supposed friendship. He missed studying with Near; he missed having his hair braided; he missed spending an hour in silence contemplating a problem and knowing that when he spoke again, Near would be on exactly the same page as him. He couldn't manage to achieve the same level of intellectual rapport with Matt, he just approached problems too differently. At those times, he would start justifying Near's comments, rationalizing them away as a misunderstanding, making excuses for him…but he couldn't bring himself to believe them. What Near had revealed on that day was nothing less than his honest opinion. Near viewed Mello as a prop in his mind, and no apology or kind gesture could erase that. Practical concerns still forced them to study together sometimes on the advanced problem sets, but Mello no longer acted warm or friendly towards Near. Near, for his part, was completely unfazed by the change in Mello's attitude towards him—proof that he truly didn't care.

Mello refused to let it hurt him. He just became a little bit angrier and more determined to win with every passing day. Near had betrayed him in the deepest way possible. From now on, they could be nothing short of bitter rivals.


	8. Chapter 8

Mello stared in disbelief at the exam results that had just been posted. Near was first. _Again. _How could it be? It was impossible! He shook his head rapidly, as if he could change the numbers by shaking them into better focus. But they remained; Near had beaten him by two points on the Chinese history exam.

To add insult to injury, the other students were clustering around him now. "Whoa Near, you got a _hundred percent?_" said Temper, the awe plain in her tone. Daniel said, "Wow, that's amazing!" His expression was one of naked adulation, and seeing it made Mello's heart miss a beat. That should be _his,_ that attention. Near was shying away from them; he didn't even _want _it. It was so unfair! But the humiliation wasn't over yet. Temper was patting Near on the back in congratulations. Linda was clapping her hands in excitement. "Isn't that like, your fifth in a row?"

And then the worst thing—the worst thing Mello had ever heard—Jury said, "Well, what do you expect from rank one?"

Mello stilled. _Rank one? _In his mind he was screaming, but his body was rooted to the spot. _He's not—we're tied! We're even! _A wave of fury suddenly engulfed him. It came out of nowhere; one second he was shocked speechless, and the next his entire body was tingling with nerve-fraying rage. It raced through him like electricity, blasting all other considerations out of its way.

He acted.

"He's not first! He's not fucking first! He's not—" Mello froze, fist poised above Jury's face, heart racing, mind reeling. The memory was there—closing the distance between himself and Jury, knocking him down, straddling him, hitting him again and again—but he couldn't recall deciding to do it. It had just _happened._ Now Jury was cowering in terror as blood gushed from his nose, whimpering apologies.

"I didn't mean it, I just wasn't, wasn't thinking, please, Mello please—"

Someone took advantage of Mello's sudden stillness and grabbed his wrist, yanking him bodily off Jury and nearly wrenching his arm out of its socket. He staggered to his feet and found himself face to face with a furious Mrs. Westbrook. "Mello! What on Earth do you think you're doing?"

He didn't know himself. "I—" Jury was sobbing now, and there really was a lot of blood. Mello was deeply shaken, but he'd be damned if he was going to let that show in front of all these witnesses. "I'm a Successor, let go of me!" He jerked free of his teacher's grip and glared. He honestly expected her to grab him again and frog-march him right into Roger's office, but instead she took an involuntary step back and watched him warily. He glanced wildly around and became acutely aware that everyone was staring at him with expressions comprised of varying degrees of shock and fear. The only two exceptions were Near, who had turned away from the unfolding scene and begun laying out a pattern of legos; and Matt, whose lips were twitching into something suspiciously close to a grin.

Mello straightened and wrapped dignity around himself like a cloak, hoping it would hide the wave of panic that was rising in him. "Near and I are tied. No one should say otherwise!" Near himself showed no reaction to this proclamation. Mello whirled and grabbed Matt's arm. "Come on! We're going."

Matt obligingly allowed himself to be led out of the room and up two flights of stairs before he spoke. "Mello—"

Mello immediately whirled and glared daggers at his friend. But Matt wasn't saying anything objectionable.

"—my arm hurts." He absorbed the look on Mello's face as the words left his lips, and his eyes widened and he took a step back. Mello realized belatedly that he was holding his friend's arm in a vice grip. He quickly smoothed his facial expression and let go.

Matt grinned and absently rubbed at the white imprints that Mello's fingers had left behind. "Wow, Mello, you really let him have it. That was amazing!"

Mello stared in surprise. "It was?"

"Yeah!" The expression on Matt's face closely resembled the awe and adulation that their classmates' faces had borne when contemplating Near's perfect score. "Jury's like four inches taller than you, but he begged you for mercy. _Begged._"

That was true. Jury was three years older than him; he dwarfed Mello. Yet there had been no struggle—Mello hadn't gotten hit even once. He frowned as he tried to piece together the mechanics of winning that quickly against someone that much bigger than him. "I must have taken him completely by surprise," he said dazedly.

"You took us all by surprise," said Matt. "But it was awesome." His eyes dipped to Mello's hands. "You're bleeding. We should go wash that off."

Mello glanced down in at them, startled. Sure enough, he was bleeding from a cut on his knuckle. He must have caught it on Jury's teeth. He nodded and mutely followed Matt into the bathroom.

It only took fifteen minutes for the other shoe to drop. Roger—_Mr. Ruvie, _Mello corrected himself mentally, he needed to get out of the habit of thinking of him as Roger or else he'd eventually slip and say it out loud—was waiting outside of his bedroom door when he finished cleaning his wound and returned. He took Mello to his office and delivered a lecture that put Mrs. Westbrook's stuffiest tirade to shame. It wasn't unexpected—Mello had always figured there was a limit to what the Successors could get away with by virtue of their position. Roger insisted that he apologize to Jury for his actions. Mello did so with what he thought was a commendable display of contrition, even though he privately thought Jury had asked for it.

The older boy glared at him resentfully the entire time he was speaking. When he finished, Jury snorted and turned his face away. "Whatever." His tone was icy. It was abundantly clear that the apology had not been accepted.


	9. Chapter 9

Liz sprinted into the room, her eyes wide with panic and her hands clasped frantically together. "Roger! One of the children is missing!"

Roger stood up so quickly that he nearly sent his chair flying over backwards. "What? Who is it? What happened?"

"It's Mello!" she exclaimed. "I just came from his room, he's not in his bed and—what?"

Roger had sat down and begun chuckling despite himself. It was his mistake in the first place, both his and the rest of the staff's. It was rude to laugh at Liz because of it; he quickly reined himself in. "I'm sorry. Liz…this is your…third day, isn't it?"

Her eyes were as wide as saucers. "Y—yes," she managed. "Did I do something wrong? Only, Emily said that I found someone missing from bed in the morning, I should report it to you right away—I just thought—"

Roger shook his head to halt her explanations. "I should have warned you about this in advance. Mello is…a bit of a special case when it comes to this rule. This is not unusual, for him."

Liz stared at him in bafflement. "You mean he's routinely not in his bed in the morning? Where does he go?"

Roger opened his mouth to answer, hesitated, and stood up instead. "I'll show you," he offered. There was no use in sugar-coating it. She would see many things here at Wammy's House that would make her uncomfortable; this would be a good litmus test of how well she would take it. He crossed the room and led her into the hallways. She followed him in confused silence as they marched past Mello's room and around the corner to Matt's. Roger quietly opened the door and let Liz look inside.

She frowned. "What am I looking for?" she asked in a whisper. The room was normal upon a first inspection: discarded books and papers on the floor, a few pieces of dirty clothing, a blanket-covered lump on the bed with a shock of red hair protruding. Then Liz inhaled sharply. Roger knew she had spotted it: Mello's fine blonde strands against and around Matt's face. If he were to pull the covers back right now, Roger knew that he would find the two boys in their usual position: Mello asleep against Matt's chest, with Matt's arms wrapped around him. The game boy would be dangling loosely from his fingers, and the bed would be littered with empty chocolate wrappers. Mello would wake up immediately, demand to know what Roger wanted, and then shake and cajole Matt until he unwillingly opened his eyes and faced the new day.

When turned back to Liz, her expression was full of shock and consternation. He gestured for her to exit the room and quietly closed the door behind her.

She followed him in staunch silence until they reentered his study. The moment he closed the door, she spoke up. "You let that go on without interference?" she demanded.

Roger crossed the room and sat at his desk before he responded. "Yes. Those two boys are best friends. To keep them apart requires a Herculean effort." He met her gaze evenly. "Do you see a problem?"

She sputtered indignantly. "You're asking me if I see a problem with two young men sleeping together?" she demanded. "Of course I do! If that's allowed to continue for much longer, they could…"

She had already trailed off uncomfortably by the time Roger held up a hand to silence her. "Actually, as they are eleven years old, there is no guarantee that sharing a bed is innocent for them, even now." The words cost him dearly to say aloud. He recalled how disgusted he had been the time that L had voiced a similar speculation about Mello and Near, and felt soiled as he realized he was now doing the same thing to Liz. Nevertheless, he straightened his shoulders and met her gaze squarely.

Her jaw hung open. "And you're okay with that?" When he didn't respond immediately, she leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. "Are you?"

Was he okay with it? Honestly, no. He wasn't. These days everyone was pushing the idea that there was nothing wrong with homosexuality, but Roger just couldn't wrap his mind around it. He wanted to claim that he was open-minded, that he was still with the times even though he was an old man. He had honestly believed it, too, right up until Mello and Matt had started making their affection publicly visible. Then he had been forced to admit that he just wasn't able to throw away prejudices from the past. Homosexuality made him uncomfortable.

He had talked to Quillsh about it one day during an extremely rare live phone call, when he had nearly had a panic attack after watching Matt tickle-torture Mello for ten minutes solid. They were twisted together like pretzels, with Matt's hands roaming over most of Mello's body, and Mello squirming helplessly against him. Mello was victimized with surprising ease considering that he had shown himself capable of effortlessly taking down someone of Jury's size. "Quillsh!" he gasped. "It's not normal, the way those two play together. It's not like other boys. It's like…" _they're flirting,_ he finished mentally, but couldn't bring himself to say aloud. "What happens if they're—if they're…queer? What do I do?"

Watari's soft chuckle gradually built into roaring laughter, much to Roger's chagrin. When the other man regained control of himself, he replied, "Be grateful. Be very grateful." Roger's mouth opened and shut rapidly a few times, a fish out of water, but Watari continued before he could formulate a verbal response. "L came in here yesterday to discuss the psychology behind why watching a woman urinate inspires arousal in men."

Roger blinked. "But that _doesn't _insp—" He broke off as his mind caught up to his ears. "Oh, god. Are you telling me that…" Watari's silence spoke volumes, and Roger grimaced. "Really? _That?_ Ugh…" He shuddered.

"We've had a few nearly identical conversations about girls who are rendered helpless through restraints and forcibly raped." He paused for a moment to let those words sink in. "So Roger, if all your boys want to do is have sex with each other, then leave them to it. You won't even have to worry about pregnancy."

Roger was stunned into silence for a several long moments by that bald statement. "How can you say things like that so plainly?" he demanded accusingly when he recovered his voice. "You've spent too much time around L!"

Quillsh considered that with a musing sigh. "Maybe you're right. L says everything plainly, after all. But the fact remains, two boys having a relationship ranks at about two out of ten on the scale of bizarre behavior that such brilliant children can get up to." There was an uncomfortable moment as they both recalled Beyond Birthday's murders, Annabel and Dorian's suicides, Castor's long series of crimes, and half a dozen other incidents. Then Quillsh lightened the mood by chuckling. "Roger, you know that I still have to periodically change L's clothes for him, right? To spare your delicate sensibilities, I won't even go into what it takes to make sure he actually gets himself clean in the shower. If I've spent too much time around him, at least it's given me an appreciation of people who can take care of themselves." There was no malice or exasperation in his tone. He was just stating facts. Roger knew that his devotion to L bordered on love. He had always admired the way he worked with and around L's quirks so seamlessly, and had often wished he could achieve the same sort of rapport with one of his top students. That is, until he thought of Near, and recalled that the specialized care that young boy required alternately drove him up the wall and made him very uncomfortable. The truth was that Roger didn't have the constitution to do the job Watari did.

Quillsh was still speaking. "Honestly, Roger, can't you just be glad that they're brilliant, promising students who can function on their own? Whatever they do together, that's at least behind closed doors. You don't even have to concern yourself with it unless they decide to strip one another in the middle of the library."

Roger gasped, then guffawed. Once he was able to put the mental image aside, it was a humorous statement. Quillsh had certainly added to his irreverence over the years. Roger was beginning to get his point, but Quillsh drove it home by restating House policy to him. The mission of the educators at Wammy's House was to provide their charges with all of the necessary tools for their intellectual development, without interfering with their own individual growth. He finished the speech by pointedly asking how far he thought they would have gotten with L if they had wasted all of their time trying to make him sit normally and change his clothes every day.

It was with that in mind that he met Liz's gaze evenly. "Yes, I am fine with things how they are," he told her. "You have to understand. Here at Wammy's House, we have a philosophy, and that is to raise these children with as little interference as possible. They are geniuses on a level that you and I can't even comprehend. It is inevitable that they will see the world differently than we do, and differently than other children of their age group. Rather than hamper them by trying to force them to live by the rules of a society comprised of people who will never reach their intellectual level, we try to let them discover what is normal and healthy for them, and then grow and develop according to that."

Liz's jaw had closed and her lips were now pressed together in a thin line of tension. "But they're _kids_," she said. "Shouldn't the adults be guiding the children, rather than the other way around?"

Roger hesitated. That was a very, very reasonable suggestion. Somehow Quillsh's talking points sounded much less convincing when it was Roger repeating them. But he had taken this job knowing full well what it entailed, and he could hardly show uncertainty in the face of a new staff member. He nodded politely. "In most institutions, that would be the guiding principle. But most institutions aren't home to the brilliance that we lay claim to here. If you want to be a successful addition to our staff, you have to come to terms with the style of education we practice here."

Liz bit her lip and her eyes bored into him, filled with consternation. There was a long, tense moment. Then she gave a jerky nod. "Fine. I…I see. I heard these things while I was being interviewed, but I guess I didn't really understand what it meant until just now."

"Are you going to be okay with our policies?" Roger inquired.

Liz pursed her lips. "I…I need some time to think it over."

Roger nodded. "I understand."

He heaved a sigh once Liz had left. Her comment—that perhaps what they were doing was letting the children make the rules when they might benefit from having rules imposed on them—might have a lot of merit. Could he really look himself in the eye and declare, head held high, that he believed in his heart that the House policies worked for everyone? Certainly they had worked well with L: he blossomed when he was perched atop a chair, shoeless, munching on candy. He had solved countless "unsolvable" cases on his routine of three hours of sleep a night and a diet of junk food. If he was forced to wear shoes, he got so distracted that he couldn't concentrate on anything else. Any other approach to raising him would have been incredibly counterproductive. Quillsh's method of raising geniuses _worked; _L was the living proof.

But what about the others…? Roger was markedly less certain about them. None of the new generation seemed to be following quite in L's footsteps. Near was the closest, but he was so physically frail that there was little that he could do by himself. Left purely to his own devices, he would never leave his favorite play room. There was a chance that he would forget to eat until he actually passed out. Matt had his own entrenched attitude problem: he was rarely as interested in schoolwork as he was in his video games and in Mello.

As for Mello…giving him free rein only seemed to encourage him to attempt more and more mischief. Mischief? Roger snorted quietly to himself. No, "mischief" was no longer the proper word for Mello's antics. He had fits of uncontrolled and uncontrollable rage that were truly frightening to behold. He'd shattered every mirror in a communal bathroom once, overturned Near's desk and dresser once, and torn apart one of the spare bedrooms on the third floor half a dozen times. They hadn't even bothered putting it back together after the third time. It had been unofficially nicknamed the Mello Rage Room by a few of the staff. Half of the teachers wouldn't approach him during his fits because they feared for their physical safety.

But it wasn't the anger or the property destruction that Roger found truly disturbing. It was the way Mello's fist had been riddled with shards of mirror glass and dripping with blood, but the boy was so consumed by his rage that he hadn't even noticed. It was how someone as physically small as Mello found the strength to upend a five-drawer dresser filled with clothing. That he kept repeating such behavior made Roger wonder if there might be something wrong that ran deeper than school pressure and youthful rebellion coupled with a very short temper. He wondered if it could be a form of deliberate self-injury, except that where other pre-teens might cry in their bedrooms and cut themselves, Mello's angst found a much more spectacular outlet. The worst part was that his violent behavior was only increasing in frequency.

Roger didn't know what to do about it. He would have sworn that Mello would be the death of him, if he hadn't seen Quillsh deal with the previous generations' serious problem children. There had never been a time when Wammy's didn't have at least one student raising hell. Mello might very well be Roger's Beyond Birthday, but he wasn't anywhere near the same league as BB. That knowledge was what Roger used to console himself when affairs in the House were at their craziest. It was what he whispered to himself today before he shook his head and forced his attention back to his work.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: WARNING. This chapter contains explicit sexual content. The boys involved are eleven years old. If this is going to horrify you, break your brain or otherwise traumatize you, then please just skip it! Got that? EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT INVOLVING 11 YEAR OLD BOYS. Consider yourself warned - scroll down at your own risk! :D_

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"Matty, wake up! Matty!"

Matt struggled into consciousness. He was overheated, drenched in sweat and tangled up in the covers. Mello's hand was shaking his shoulder insistently. He opened his eyes and found himself staring up into Mello's concerned features. "You were having a nightmare," he said. "You were making these sounds."

"No…not a nightmare…" mumbled Matt. He couldn't remember the details of his dream, but it had been nice. Somehow, his underwear had gotten bunched up around his crotch so tightly that it was causing him pain. He squirmed and reached down to fix it, but he realized something was wrong even before his hand reached it. His groin felt all cramped and stuffy. Once his hand was there, there could be no doubt. It wasn't the underwear at fault; it was _him._

Matt sat bolt upright. Mello exclaimed in surprise at his sudden movement. "Whoa, Matt, what's with you today? Forget an exam?"

It only took an instant for Matt to realize that there was no possible way he was going to be able to keep this from Mello. "No, it's…there's something go on…down there," he mumbled.

"What is it?" demanded Mello, eyes wide.

Matt shoved the covers off of himself and, with great trepidation, pulled the top of his underwear open just a hair. He grimaced as he looked inside. His dick hadn't just gotten stiff, it had gotten _bigger._ It felt like a foreign creature attached to him, one he had no control over.

Mello grabbed the waistband of his underwear right out of his hand and yanked it out all the way. Matt gasped and flushed crimson in mortification, but Mello didn't relinquish his grip. "Whoa!" he exclaimed. Then he grinned widely. "Matty! You have an erection!"

"I can see that!" said Matt defensively. He tried to wrestle his underwear back from Mello's hands, but the blonde held firm.

"Quit it!" he exclaimed. "You don't get to hide it from me. That would be the same as keeping a secret, and that's not allowed."

Matt hesitated. He had tried to explain privacy and the concept of the personal bubble to Mello on many occasions, all to no avail. If Matt pushed him away, it led immediately to a crestfallen expression and the plaintive question, "Do you hate me?" It was usually easiest to just let him have his way. Aloud, he said, "Are you sure that those are really the same thing?" At Mello's emphatic nod, he relinquished his grip on the garment. Mello had it around his ankles in an instant.

"Wow," he said, peering at Matt's dick intently. "It's such a weird color! And it's so much bigger! Doesn't it look funny?" He glanced up at Matt's expression, and laughed. "Your face is almost the same color. Hey, you match!"

That, if anything, made Matt redden further. "Shut up!" he hissed. Mello just stuck his tongue out unrepentantly. Matt glanced downwards again and bit his lip. "Um…" He looked at Mello plaintively. "What am I supposed to do?"

Mello's expression sobered. "Don't stick it into a girl's…you know, because then she'll get pregnant and have a baby," he said gravely.

"I know that!" snapped Matt. "But what do I actually _do?" _Roger had been exceedingly clear during anatomy class about what not to do in the event of an erection. But it had just dawned on Matt that he had never said a word about what _to _do.

"Um…well…" Mello seemed to be out of his depth as well. "Maybe it'll go away by itself?"

Matt took hold of it. He couldn't not; it was _there. _Touching it produced a shivery thrill of sweet feeling that made his stomach tingle. Entranced, he wrapped his fingers all the way around it and squeezed experimentally. "Feels good," he said in a hushed tone.

"Yeah, it always feels nice to touch your dick," agreed Mello, rubbing his through his underwear.

"No, like—way better than usual," said Matt. He moved his hand along the length of it, and squirmed.

"Can I touch too?" asked Mello.

"No!"

"Please?"

"Why?" demanded Matt.

Mello recoiled slightly, looking hurt. "I just want to know what it feels like. Why don't you want me to? Aren't we best friends?"

The way his dick felt was too distracting for him to put his heart into an argument with Mello right now. "Okay! You can touch it if you want, weirdo."

Mello pouted. "I'm not weird." He reached out and used one finger to poke the tip of it where Matt's hand wasn't. It sent a jolt of pleasure through Matt's dick and he jerked involuntarily. Mello saw it, of course; it was impossible to get anything past him. He giggled and repeated his touch a few times.

It happened so quickly. All of the sudden, Matt's dick felt amazing, so good that he didn't care that it was spurting liquid out onto the sheets, and didn't care that Mello exclaimed in dismay and jerked his hand back. Then it was over, and Matt was left trying to catch his breath while Mello stared at the goo on his hand with wide eyes.

"You made a mess," said Mello disapprovingly.

"Didn't mean to," said Matt in between pants. "That felt really good. Really, really good."

Mello had brought his hand close to his eye and peered at the off-white substance coating it. "Semen," he said authoritatively.

"Yeah." Then Matt frowned. "I didn't know it could just…come out…like that."

"It's not supposed to," said Mello. "It's supposed to come out when you have sex or wet dreams. That's what Roger said."

Matt shrugged. "Well maybe if you hadn't woken me up, it would have happened in my sleep." He grinned. "But I'm glad I was awake for it. It felt really good."

Mello grinned back. Then he turned thoughtful. "You're supposed to start getting erections when you start to like girls," he said. He peered at Matt's face curiously. "Do you like girls now?"

"Uh…" Matt probed his feelings to see if he liked any of the girls in their class any better than he had yesterday, but came up empty. "I don't think so. I'd know it if I did, wouldn't I?"

"Yeah…I think so," said Mello a trifle uncertainly. He grabbed Matt's discarded underwear and wiped his hand off on it, then huffed a little sigh. "I want to know what that felt like. No fair that you got the first erection. I'm the older one!"

"But you got the first hairs down there, and the first wet dream," Matt pointed out. That reminder mollified him slightly. "As for an erection…well, maybe in a few months," he said, trying hard to keep a straight face. "When you get to be a man too."

"Hey!" Mello punched him in the arm, and Matt laughed as he pulled away. He snagged his underwear from Mello and did his best to wipe off himself and his bed. Then he tossed them into the laundry hamper with a grimace.

"You're all back to normal now," Mello commented, staring at Matt's crotch.

"Yeah." Matt curled up. Now that the good feeling part was over, embarrassment was starting to settle back in. "Quit looking, now, would you?"

"'Kay." Mello bounced off the bed and went to the dresser, where he dug out a new pair of underwear and tossed them at Matt. "C'mon, let's go shower."


	11. Chapter 11

Liz sprinted into Roger's office, causing him to experience a moment of acute déjà vu. This time, the expression on her face was just as accusatory as it was panicked. "It's Mello!" she exclaimed. "You should come right away!"

Roger did. Their destination was the store room on the third floor, where Mello was having another of his fits. It was the first he had had one since Liz's arrival. Roger didn't fault her for her distress; the destruction Mello could wreak was not easy to absorb. The room was a shambles by the time Roger arrived. Several students were craning their necks to get a look into the room, and two teachers were trying to hold them back. Nobody attempted to approach Mello, though. No one was that foolish. The job of ending his destructive rage usually fell to Charles Davies, the biggest man on the staff. He wasn't here yet, but Roger was confident that he would be soon. The whole staff knew that fetching him was more important than fetching Roger in these situations.

When Roger pushed through the crowd of students, he found Matt sitting in front of the doorway. Where the other students were whispering nervously to one another, Matt was watching his friend's destructive progress avidly, his face wearing a blissful grin. His eyes, for once not hidden behind sunglasses, were glazed over with an intense emotion that Roger could only describe as "hunger." It was…strange. "Matt," said Roger sharply. "Why are you smiling?"

Matt's eyes didn't leave Mello for even an instant. "Because of Mello," he said happily. "Mello is shining. Like the sun."

Roger stared at him in bafflement, then at Mello. The boy was putting his fist through the closet door over and over again. He tried to match Matt's comment with what he was seeing, but he couldn't make heads or tails of it. And not only was it nonsensical in this context, but it was…well…almost poetic. Completely out of character for Matt. "Shining like the sun?" he repeated incredulously.

Matt glanced at him in surprise and appeared to realize that he'd been caught showing an emotion. He immediately swallowed his smile and put his sunglasses back on.

Roger's confusion flipped to anger. He could see blood dripping down Mello's forearms clearly from here. How could Matt enjoy watching his best friend get hurt? That attitude was so uncaring and unsympathetic that it would give Near a run for his money. "Matt, he's _hurting himself_, can't you se that?" he demanded.

"What?" said Matt stupidly. Then he inhaled sharply. "You're right!" he exclaimed, as if he had somehow managed not to notice until just now. He pulled his sunglasses back off and dumped them into Roger's hands. "I'll try my best to stop him," he announced. Then he strode fearlessly into the room.

"Wait, Matt!" exclaimed Roger. He made a grab for him, but the child evaded him easily. Roger stopped at the doorway, not daring to go any farther.

"Mel," began Matt. Mello whirled, his expression a mask of rage. "Mello, you should stop—"

They all saw Mello lifting the dresser drawer. They all knew what was going to happen. But Matt didn't even lift a hand to defend himself. Maybe he just didn't believe that his friend would turn on him; Roger couldn't even hazard a guess what was going through his head in that moment. But Mello didn't hesitate for so much as an instant.

The drawer caught Matt full-force in the stomach. He went down with nothing more than a muffled grunt.

Then Mello was standing over him, one hand on his hip, a furious sneer twisting his features. He grabbed Matt's shirt and yanked, and the boy flopped halfway up, boneless as a rag doll.

"What the hell do you think _you're _doing getting in my way, Matty?" Mello shouted into his face. He buried one hand in his red hair and drew the other one back. Roger's heart leapt into his throat and he shouted silently at Matt to defend himself—he had both arms free—but Matt didn't move a muscle. The two teachers were moving now, but not fast enough. Mello's free hand cracked across Matt's face, palm open, with enough force to send a resounding _smack_ echoing through the room.

Then the teachers reached him. There was a three-way scuffle that mercifully only lasted for a few seconds before Mr. Davies arrived. He strode into the room and grabbed Mello, twisting his arm behind his back. Mello let out a shriek and tried to jerk away, but only succeeded in nearly dislocating his shoulder. He screamed and went limp, dropping Matt. The redhead collapsed to the floor. Mr. Davies hauled Mello's still form bodily into the air and carried him away.

Roger rushed into the room and knelt next to Matt. "Are you all right?"

Matt sat up, dazedly touching his reddened cheek. "He hit me," he said slowly, voice full of disbelief. Then a grin slowly spread across his features. "He _hit _me!"

Roger was rendered momentarily speechless. Matt's reaction was completely backwards from what it should be. He wondered if the boy could have received a head injury in the fray. Matt sat docilely while he checked for one, but he found nothing. He appeared to be in good physical health, and yet his face still wore that dreamy grin and he kept touching the cheek Mello had slapped. It was inexplicable, not to mention distinctly disturbing. He had to ask it, even though he almost feared the answer. "Why do you keep smiling?"

"Mello's so strong," said Matt softly. "You saw didn't you?" His eyes met Roger's for a moment, and he smiled. "I always knew he'd be this strong. He is amazing." Then he laughed. "I need to see him. Did Mr. Davies take him to the infirmary?"

It took Roger a moment to find his voice. "Yes...yes, I'm sure he did, to treat his wounds."

Matt jumped up, and Roger could only stare after him stupidly as he left the room. That had been more words and smiles from the boy than he could typically expect in a month. Normally he was aloof, distant and withdrawn, an introvert who seemed completely uninterested in other people, save for his friendship with Mello. He kept everyone else at a distance, his blank expression and sunglasses warning them off. He sometimes smiled when he was with Mello, but that was it. That was all anyone had ever seen of him, and so the staff had believed that that was simply all there was to him. A dull, lazy boy who didn't care much about the world.

But today Roger had seen a completely different side of him. The way he had smiled, the words "shines like the sun"…those called everything into question. They implied that there was a different side to Matt, a Matt that no one had seen. Suddenly he wondered if Matt was just as complicated as any other child in the House, but simply hid it very well.

And if that were the case—

If that were the case, Roger realized, it meant that he didn't know Matt at all. Oh, he knew his real name, knew where he came from and how he'd ended up an orphan, knew that he liked video games and junk food, but…that was it. As for who Matt really _was,_ as a person, as for what he cared about and what moved him, he had no idea. He had thought those things didn't exist. Now that he knew better, he saw Matt in a whole different light. A sinister light. What was the redhead hiding behind that blank stare and those sunglasses? He could be anyone. He was a walking question mark, a complete stranger who walked among them but wasn't _of _them, a liar who had been deceiving them all for years. He couldn't be trusted. Roger began reexamining all of Matt's past actions warily, trying to gain clues to what dark secrets lurked under the surface. What sort of psychological makeup did it take to make him laugh after being physically attacked by his best friend?

One Mello had figured out, it seemed. Matt trailed after him like a dog after its owner. Hand in hand, they could be seen in the library or the study rooms or in the shade of the big trees outside, whispering to each other and trading secretive smiles. It occurred to Roger that if he wanted information about Matt, the most direct way to get it might be to ask Mello. Suddenly his worry about Mello and Matt taking their relationship beyond the point of friendship was overshadowed by a fresh fear of what was going through Matt's head. There was something peculiar happening between those two, and it was much more complicated than he had initially thought. He had no idea what it was, though; and since it was going on almost entirely behind closed doors, he had no way to find out.

_Actually, there is _one_ way to find out,_ whispered an insidious little voice inside of him. A chill ran down his spine. _No, I couldn't. It's too wrong. But…I'm their guardian, I'm the one who's ultimately responsible for them… I need to know what's going on…_

Roger remained frozen in indecision for several long minutes before he abruptly decided to take the plunge. He hurried to his office, determined to get it over with before he could lose his nerve. He unlocked the top drawer of his desk and removed the special key that rested inside. Then he climbed to the fourth floor and slipped through the doorway of the disused utility closet at the end of the hall. It looked innocuous enough, just a dusty old janitor's closet full of junk. He guessed that most people in the House, students and teachers alike, were barely aware of its existence. It was the sort of room that peoples' eyes slid right over without taking any conscious note.

But the second doorway at the back of the room, hidden away by a bin of cleaning implements, was anything but innocuous. It sported a key lock, a combination padlock and a thumbprint scanner, which was keyed only to L, Watari and Roger. Roger had never used it before, and experienced a moment of nervousness while he waited for the system to recognize him. Then it released with an audible click, and he was able to slip inside.

He turned slowly and appraised his new surroundings. The walls were almost entirely covered by banks of computer monitors and other high-tech equipment. This was L's observation room, the nerve center of Wammy's House. His network of bugs covered the entire grounds, bedrooms and bathrooms included. L spent considerable amounts of time watching the security feeds during all of his visits, much to Roger's dismay. He had given Roger permission to use the network in his absence whenever he wanted, but Roger had refused on moral grounds. He found the idea of spying on the students and staff without their knowledge repellent. It was with a great sense of gravity and sorrow that he switched on the equipment today.

He was worried at first that he wouldn't be able to figure out how to operate the system, but that fear was short-lived. It turned out to be completely intuitive. He had the monitors up and running within minutes, and it proved easy to switch between the different feeds and see whichever part of the House he so chose. The first observational target was obvious. He flipped to the infirmary where Mello was and found that, as expected, Matt was there too. He fumbled for a moment before he figured out how to turn the sound on. Then he settled into the chair that was the room's sole piece of furniture and began watching.

* * *

Mello lay quietly in the infirmary bed. He felt strangely calm after the violence of tearing apart the spare room. It had hit as soon as Mr. Davies hauled him bodily into the air. Once he realized that further struggle was futile and relaxed, he had been gripped by an exhausted lassitude that was almost pleasant. Sounds and touches both felt muted, like there was a giant cotton wad insulating him from the rest of the world. He dully noted pain in his hands and feet, but it felt at one remove. He had lain very still while Mrs. Drewett, the nurse, pulled the wood splinters out of his knuckles and the impressively large glass shard out of his foot. He hadn't even been annoyed when she delivered a lecture about running around in bare feet near glass. He couldn't be bothered by anything right now—not even, he realized in surprise, Near. Maybe he was just too physically drained to have the energy for anger, he didn't know, but it felt rather nice. Peaceful. Like all the resentment and frustration and rage had been drained out of him by that fit. Maybe it actually had.

The moment Mrs. Drewett finished bandaging him and exited the room, Matt came rushing in. Mello was thrilled to see him, but his joy flipped immediately to guilt when he saw the outline of his own handprint picked out in red across his cheek.

"Mel!" his friend exclaimed. He came to stand by his bedside and looked over him, radiating distress and concern. "Are you okay? How do you feel?"

"I should be asking you that." He reached up and touched Matt's cheek lightly. The redhead immediately stilled and watched him warily. "Matty, I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," said Matt. "It's okay."

"But…I threw a drawer at you." He winced at the memory. He had put all of his strength behind that blow. "Did I hurt you badly? Can I see?" He reached out and lifted Matt's shirt.

"Hey!" Matt immediately danced back from the bedside.

"I want to see," said Mello plaintively. He gave Matt his most persuasive look, and the redhead conceded. He stepped forward again and raised his shirt, exposing his torso.

There was already a bruise forming where the dresser drawer had hit. Mello cringed. He brushed his fingers over it, and Matt immediately stiffened. Mello jerked his hand back. "Did I hurt you?"

Matt shook his head rapidly. There was a slight blush on his cheeks, and Mello realized that it was just because he was touching him. Matt was weird about that. Some days he would bolt at the barest hint of physical contact, and other days he would happily let Mello naked hug him in the shower. Mello had a hard time predicting which Matt he was going to get in any given moment, and he couldn't quite tell which one this was right now.

He decided to test it. "I'll hug you and be really nice to you to make up for it," he offered contritely. He started to sit up.

A hand on his chest stopped him. "You're supposed to stay lying down." Matt's smile kept his words from being an admonition. "I heard Mrs. Drewett say that."

"Okay then." Mello took the hand that Matt had restrained him with. "Lie down here with me and I'll hug you that way." Matt hesitated, looking around the room warily. Mello knew what he was thinking—he was worried about touching in a public place. Mrs. Drewett could come back at any time. "Just for a minute," said Mello quickly. "You can come under the covers." He lifted his blanket invitingly and gestured for Matt to get under them.

"Well…" Matt glanced around the room nervously one more time. "Okay." He kicked off his shoes and climbed up. Mello grabbed him and pulled him into a tight embrace before he could change his mind. Matt made an inarticulate sound of surprise, but then relaxed and let himself be held. Mello closed his eyes, pressed his face against his friend's head so that red hairs tickled his nose. He liked this, just himself and Matt, no video games or chocolate bars or textbooks serving as distractions.

"Mello…you're so strong," said Matt, against his chest. His tone was almost reverent. "How do you manage to be that strong? You're amazing."

The compliment made Mello flush. Matt was being extra nice today, and that made him feel even more guilty about having hurt him. "I dunno…but that's bad for you," he said. "Matty, why did you get in my way?"

Matt lifted his head up from Mello's chest to make eye contact. "I saw that your hands were bleeding," he answered. "I didn't want you to hurt yourself."

That only made it worse. Mello opened his mouth to tell him that he would never do it again, that he would only be nice, but he hesitated. He remembered the absolute rage that had filled him at seeing _his own best friend_ stand against him. It had felt like a betrayal, and his fury had been all-consuming. He knew in his heart that he would do the same thing again if Matt hindered him when he was angry. "Matty, don't get in my way when I'm mad," he said. "I don't want to hit you again."

"'Kay," agreed Matt easily. "Mel, what happened? What were you so mad about?"

Mello bit his lip. "It was…Near…I was behind him by three points on the math exam. I was so angry at him…and at myself." He shook his head. A touch of the frustration that had driven him to tear the bedroom apart was starting to come back. Try as he might, he could never open a solid lead above Near in test scores. "What if I can never beat him?" he asked plaintively. "What if we're tied forever? What if L doesn't choose me? What—" He broke off in surprise when Matt's hand closed over his mouth. He tried to say "What the hell?" but it came out muffled.

"Mello," said Matt insistently. "Don't talk like that. Things aren't going to be that way." He squeezed Mello's upper arm and caught his gaze. "You'll beat him, Mel. You're the only real Successor."

For a moment, Mello was completely captivated by his eyes. They were so pretty, emerald green and bright and seemingly bottomless, like he could fall in and keep on tumbling into the depths of Matt forever. Then he remembered that his mouth was still being forcibly covered. He glared and licked Matt's hand.

"Gross!" Matt jerked his hand back and wiped it on Mello's shirt, giving him a dirty look.

Mello stuck his tongue out unrepentantly. Then he sobered. "How can you be so confident, Matt? Near is—Near is really smart, and he keeps beating me on exams, and I just don't know…" He trailed off uncertainly and bit his lip.

Matt searched his face deeply, his brows creasing. "Why are you doubting yourself? Mello, you have complete faith in a God that doesn't even exi—" He caught himself and quickly amended, "—that you can't even see or touch. But you're right here, and you're so…" He hesitated, lifting one hand to hover over Mello's face, then over his shoulder, then his chest before returning to his side. "You're so _here._ Why don't you have the same faith in yourself? _I _have faith in you," he said softly.

Mello stilled. Those words, coming from Matt, were not insignificant. "You do?"

Matt's eyes lost focus for a moment as he looked within himself and genuinely considered. Then he nodded. "Yeah. I do."

Mello flushed. Matt, who thought faith was for idiots, had some after all. For _him._ Those words touched him deeply, making the pit of his stomach flutter with butterflies, making him shiver all over. Not even God had managed to earn Matt's faith, but somehow _he_ had. He could feel his doubts and fears start to melt away, vanishing in the face of Matt's confidence in him. He felt peaceful and relaxed, as if the stoic calm that Matt possessed had somehow come right out of his eyes to blanket him. They really were beautiful eyes, and Mello wondered why it had taken him this long to realize it.

"Matt!" Mrs. Drewett's tone was sharp and startled. Mello hadn't even noticed her entering the room, but now there she was at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over her chest. "Don't disturb Mello! He should be resting!"

Matt stiffened, then shrank against him as if he could disappear that way. "I don't think I'm disturbing him," he mumbled. "Am I?"

"No!" affirmed Mello.

"Well, you still have a class you should be attending," she said sternly. Matt groaned softly at that reminder. "I won't write you an excuse for missing it, so you ought not be truant."

Matt sighed. He lifted his head and his eyes locked apologetically on Mello's. "'kay."

Mrs. Drewett, despite her fierceness, exited the room the moment the word left his lips. Mello relinquished his grip on Matt reluctantly, and the redhead sat up. He looked over Mello's body carefully, brows creased in worry. "Are you feeling all right, Mello? Really?" He laced his fingers through Mello's. "I'll skip class and stay, if you want."

Mello's stomach tingled at that offer, that Matt was willing to defy House rules for his sake. He was tempted to take him up on it, but then decided that he didn't want his friend getting into trouble on his behalf. "It's okay. I'm okay. You should go to class."

Matt nodded. "Okay." He started to stand, but Mello tightened his grip on his fingers.

"Wait, Matty."

Matt turned to him. "What is it?"

It wasn't anything, he just didn't want to relinquish his grip on Matt's hand yet. "Matt, thank you."

Matt smiled and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "You're welcome."

It seemed so inadequate, a simple thanks, for how much better Matt had made him feel. He tried to think of something more articulate to say, some way of expressing himself better. Abruptly, he sat up and kissed Matt on the cheek.

Then he reeled back, caught by surprise at his own action. Just like hitting Jury and tearing apart the storeroom, that kiss had bypassed his conscious mind entirely in transforming from thought to deed. Matt's fingers flew to his cheek, his eyes wide with surprise, gawking directly at him. Mello was suddenly too embarrassed to make eye contact, and he turned to the side and giggled nervously. He could feel himself blushing. When he managed to glance back at Matt, the redhead quickly swiveled his gaze in the other direction. His face was as crimson as his hair. His hand hadn't moved away from his cheek, still resting on the kiss Mello had given him, but his lips were twitching into a small smile. Mello looked away before he could look back and hugged himself, also smiling. "I'll see you after class, Matty."

"Y…yeah, okay." Matt jumped out of bed and hurried across the room and out the door.

Mello watched him go mutely. His head was spinning a little bit, maybe that was because he had sat up when Mrs. Drewett had given express orders to stay horizontal. He slowly lay back down, reviewing the feel of Matt's cheek against his lips in his mind.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Again, this chapter contains some sexual content with underaged characters. In fact, such content will appear from time to time for the rest of the story and I'm not going to put warnings on it each time. Just so you know!_

Matt found Roger's office door open. When he peeked nervously around the corner, he saw L sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk, knees pulled up to his chin in his characteristic pose. He was watching the doorway. "Please come inside," he instructed Matt. "And close the door behind you."

Nervously, Matt did as he was told. This was the first time in all of L's examination sessions that he had been summoned to meet with him before the testing began. Usually the first the students knew of his visit was when the case materials were suddenly handed to them. Matt didn't like this turn of events, and found it even more unsettling that he was the only one who had been singled out for this dubious honor. He approached L with trepidation and sat in the chair across from him, as seemed to be expected. Dark-rimmed eyes bored into him as the man popped a strawberry into his mouth. The silence was long and awkward, and it took all of Matt's carefully-honed aloofness to keep from fidgeting under that gaze.

"Cake?" L asked abruptly, startling Matt. He indicated the cart next to him, which had two different types of cake on it. Watari smoothly lifted the knife and prepared to cut a piece.

"Okay," agreed Matt quietly. A moment later, Watari handed him the slice and a fork. He took a judicious bite.

L shoved the rest of his piece into his mouth. When he spoke, it was around a mouthful. "If you don't perform well on today's exams, I will arrange to have you removed from Wammy's House."

Matt froze. The cake turned to stone in his stomach, and his blood ran cold. "What?"

L continued chewing as if he had said nothing at all remarkable. "Matt, do you want to be my Successor?"

Matt swallowed and sought after his voice. "Of course," he managed around a throat that had nearly closed.

L held out his hand and waited until Watari deposited another piece of cake onto his plate before he continued. "I am not convinced of that. The capabilities of your mind may, in fact, exceed mine; however, your attitude is problematic. You do not apply yourself. Even a brilliant mind is useless without a desire to succeed. There is already another M-candidate; and as such, if you do not wish to be a potential Successor anymore, you can easily be removed to an institution that will be better suited to you."

Matt's mind reeled with shock. His intelligence, greater than L's? Kicking him out of Wammy's, though he was third? Both of those statements were unthinkable, but trying to take them both in at once was utterly impossible. _No! Mello is here, he's here and nowhere else!_ Matt tried to control his rapid, panicked breathing. This conversation was a realization of his worst nightmares. It had been bad enough back when Mello was ignoring him in favor of Near. If Matt's own personal failures led to them being torn apart forever—that would be too much. Unbidden, Matt's mind flashed an image of himself lying in the shower of a new orphanage, bleeding to death slowly from fresh, deep slashes along both wrists.

Matt forced his voice through clenched teeth. "This is the best place for me! I'll do my best, L, and I won't disappoint you!"

L blinked at him placidly. "If you wish to remain, see that you don't." He turned his attention back to his cake and appeared to forget all about Matt for several minutes as he ate. Then he looked up in apparent surprise at finding the redhead still there. "You may go to your computer. Test materials will be assigned in eight minutes' time."

* * *

L smiled to himself as he looked over the results Matt had submitted. "As I suspected. Matt is brilliant. Not only did he solve the case in record time, he also picked up on a few subtleties that even I nearly missed when I was working this case."

Watari approached him, bearing a tray with several flavors of ice cream on it. He kept his expression mild and kindly, as always, but his words, when they came, carried a hint of reproach. "Matt is terrified."

L glanced up at him and cocked his head slightly in curiosity. "But how else should I have addressed this dilemma?" he inquired. "He would not have responded to any less of a threat."

"That may be true," Watari acknowledged. "However, you lied to him. You have no intention of removing him from this institution."

L grinned at him. "Yes, your deduction is correct. But Matt lied to me also. He said he wants to be my Successor." He watched Watari with those wide, child-like eyes that he had become accustomed to over the years. "I lied for a purpose. I needed to find out how bad Matt's attitude truly is."

"And because he performed this well when threatened, you conclude that his attitude is quite bad most of the time?" inquired Watari.

"Indeed," agreed L. He licked at a spoonful of ice cream, then left the spoon in his mouth as he continued. "He has been working nowhere near his potential. It's pathetic, really. He is completely unsuited to being my Successor." He fell silent for several minutes, deep in thought. Then abruptly he turned around and grinned toothily at Watari. "Isn't it fascinating? Though they are my Successors, they are nothing like me. Maybe it's illogical, but I had always assumed that they would be similar to me. However, that does not appear to be the case. Look at Mello! He's very sociable and outgoing. He makes friends easily. That is the opposite of me."

Watari shifted closer with his selection of ice cream. "Near seems to be a boy after your own heart," he suggested helpfully.

L shook his head immediately. "No. Not Near. _Matt_ is a boy after my own heart." That surprised Watari, and he paid keen attention to what L said next. "He is a natural outsider, yet he is an astute observer of the behavior of those around him." He shoveled in several more mouthfuls of ice cream. "I do notice how people act, Watari, even if I have trouble getting along with them. For example, I notice that Roger does not like me."

That statement left a gaping hole in the conversation that, in other company, would have been awkward. In other company, Watari would have immediately insisted that he was mistaken, that Roger did, in fact, like him. But not with L. He had never noticed any dislike toward L on Roger's part, but he completely trusted that L, the young man that he had privately come to think of as "his" genius, was correct. He made a mental note to ask Roger about it later.

"It is an important skill for a detective to have," continued L. "I believe Matt possesses it, whether he realizes it himself or not." L swiveled his attention back to the bank of monitors in front of him. "That is the best viewpoint for understanding human behavior – observing from outside, yet comprehending." He grabbed a second bowl and became spooning ice cream out of it contentedly. "I only wish that Matt could understand what he is doing."

"I…I think I see," replied Watari honestly. "You mean to say that if he actively understood his own mentality, he could combine his talents with Mello's and Near's?"

"Mello's _or _Near's," corrected L absently. "And because of the history between Matt and Near—that is, that they have never formed a true friendship during years of association—I would estimate that the only one Matt can combine his mental forces with is Mello." He ceased speaking, chewing absently on the spoon in his lips.

"Truly an astute observation," said Watari aloud. Inside, he was glowing with pride. The things that L could discern were surely unmatched on planet Earth.

Abruptly, L dropped his spoon onto the tray. "I will remove Matt from the list of official Successor candidates," he declared. "He can remain at Wammy's House, but only Mello and Near will be considered to potentially follow in my footsteps. Watari, please inform Roger of this change."

Watari nodded his understanding and immediately turned to the computer to share this new information with Roger.

* * *

"Mello. Quit moving around so much."

Mello stilled guiltily. He was lying down with his head on Matt's chest. The redhead had his arms lightly around his him so that he could rest his game on his shoulder. They were in a fort made of all of the covers on Matt's bed, completely hidden from outside prying eyes. The need for that was still uncertain, since they had no proof that they were being spied on, but Matt was paranoid. He couldn't stomach the idea that Roger might see them touch each other or themselves. Mello didn't care—the opposite, actually. He was proud of the things they had discovered together, and proud of how good he could make Matt feel. If it were up to him, he'd let everyone in the House watch them and be jealous that they were missing out. But Matt wouldn't hear of it, so in deference to his shyness, they stayed under the covers. Mello didn't mind all that much. He felt very secure like this, just the two of them in their own private world.

"You're still moving!"

Mello froze again. He didn't know how Matt could stand to stay so motionless for so long to play his games. Mello was always restless within minutes. "How much longer are you going to play?" he asked, his tone bordering on a whine.

"'Till you go to sleep," replied Matt exasperatedly. "I won't be able to until you do. You're too distracting."

Mello harrumphed. Matt got really unfriendly sometimes when he was involved in his game. Occasionally he made Mello go to the other half of the bed and sleep alone, if he was fidgeting too much. Mello hated it. Fortunately, that had been happening less and less often ever since they had discovered the really good-feeling thing that they could do by touching their dicks. They had figured out a lot about how it worked by now. They got stiff on their own sometimes, especially in the mornings, but they could also induce it by rubbing them. Some spots felt better than others, although which ones seemed to vary day by day depending on his mood. They had worked out which ways of touching worked the best and made ejaculation happen the most quickly. Their favorite place to do it was in the showers, where the resulting mess was easy to wash away. It was a little bit clumsier if they touched each other than if they touched themselves since they couldn't feel it, but Mello often thought it was more fun that way even so. It was their bond as best friends, and he liked knowing that _he _was the one making Matt feel good. Sometimes Matt was really resistant at first and that was frustrating, but Mello had decided that he kind of liked the way Matt would go from discomfort to need once he started touching the right places. Seeing Matt squirm around from good feelings was almost as satisfying as feeling them himself.

Smiling slightly, Mello let one hand trail down along Matt's body to his crotch. He squeezed gently.

"Hey, quit," protested Matt.

Mello pressed a little more firmly. "Don't you want to do that thing?" he murmured in his most cajoling tone.

Matt wriggled his hips away from Mello's hands. "But we just did it like…two hours ago."

"Doesn't it feel good enough to do it again?" persuaded Mello.

"It's too soon. It won't feel that good."

Mello fell silent He probably had a good point. The most disappointing thing was that once the spurting was over with, they couldn't repeat it for some time. It got to be a little bit difficult or painful if they tried to do it too closely in succession. It surprised Mello afresh every time. In the moments right before his dick spurted, he was always completely caught up in the feeling, and certain that he would do it again the instant it ended. But his body wasn't up to the task, even when his mind was. The seconds right afterwards, when he was forced to realize that he was going to have to wait awhile before he could feel good again, were so frustrating and disappointing. How long he had to wait varied; sometime he was itching to do it again an hour later, other times he didn't really feel like it for days. It was a mystery, a code to crack, a puzzle of sorts—but one that was way more fun than any puzzle Near had ever worked on. Reminding himself of that always made him feel vastly superior to the white-haired boy, regardless of exam scores. Near had finger puppets; he had _this._

Mello often wondered if he and Matt were the only ones that had discovered it. He felt like they had joined a secret society, those who _knew,_ and he kept trying to determine if any of his classmates also knew. He imagined that somehow they would recognize the knowledge within one another immediately, that they would exchange a little smile and a nod of mutual understanding before going about their business. But he didn't think anyone else had figured it out. It was only himself and Matt. They were pioneers, explorers in a secret world they had discovered that was filled with sublime delights.

It was also a world that shouldn't exist. Either that, or what they had learned in Anatomy class was full of gaping holes. He suspected that Roger had deceived them on purpose. For example, Roger had explained the role of ejaculation in reproduction, but he'd _never once _mentioned how good it felt! That, to Mello's mind, was a major omission; an oversight so glaring that it qualified as deliberate misinformation. And he'd never told them that it could happen at times other than during sex or wet dreams; that it was, in fact, incredibly easy; that all it took was a few minutes and a hand and a way to dispose of the mess. Instead, Roger had spent ages harping on how the boys and the girls shouldn't have sex with each other. Mello couldn't understand why that had warranted so much repetition—it seemed completely straightforward to him. Girls got pregnant from sex, so the boys shouldn't have sex with them until they were married and ready to have a baby. Simple. End of story. That Roger kept revisiting this point had thoroughly confused him.

"Hey, Matty," he began.

"Yeah."

"When you have sex…" He inadvertently trailed off as he tried to formulate what he wanted to say. Matt remained silent, but put the game on pause. Mello could tell he had his friend's full attention. "Why would you have sex with a girl knowing that it could make her pregnant?"

"I wouldn't," answered Matt succinctly.

"Not _you,_" said Mello exasperatedly. "The general "you." Anybody. Why would someone want to have sex with a girl if they weren't trying to make a baby? I mean, it's so easy to feel good using just your hands or your best friend's hands. Why would anyone willingly bring a girl into it? Ever? I mean, they're…girls! They look like—" He didn't know what word he wanted. They weren't cute like Matt, that was for sure. "—like girls!" he finished lamely.

Matt grinned. "Girls look like girls, hmm?" he teased. Mello glared at him as he considered the question. "Um…I dunno," he admitted. "It seems like a terrible idea. I guess maybe it'll make more sense when we get old enough to start liking them?" he hazarded.

Mello frowned, dissatisfied with this answer. "We should like them already, now. Kentin does. He asked Linda out." He shook his head. "Roger was lying to us, Matty."

"Lying?" repeated Matt skeptically. "You really think so?"

Mello dug his fingernails into Matt's ribs in aggravation, and was rewarded by a grunt and a slight wince from the other boy. "But nothing is turning out anything like he said! It doesn't add up, Matty. Think about it. We're supposed to have wet dreams with girls in them, but only you have ever been in mine. He never mentioned the most important part about ejaculation, which is how _good_ it feels. He never said that you could make it come out with your hand. He just talked about having sex with girls, which makes no sense to do! What would you say if this were Deductions class? I bet you would come to the same conclusion!"

"Maybe," allowed Matt. "But what would you expect him to say? "Hey, it feels great to play with your dick, so go try it. Go try it now, as soon as class is over!" Yeah right." Matt laughed.

Mello hesitated. He had sort of a point there. Roger was a stuffy old man. Talking about private parts probably embarrassed him even more than it embarrassed Matt. He was always lecturing the two of them for showering together and saying they were too old for it. "Maybe he never figured how to do it," Mello suggested.

"You know what? I really don't want to think about that," replied Matt with a snort. Their fort was abruptly plunged into darkness as he flipped off his game. "I'm tired," he said. "Aren't you tired yet?"

Truthfully, Mello's eyes were getting droopy. "Okay," he replied. "We can sleep now." He timidly rested his head against Matt's chest, and smiled when his friend's arms came up to rest around him. He was much nicer now that he wasn't playing his game. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he fell asleep was peaceful and reassuring. In moments like this, Mello wasn't restless at all. He closed his eyes, and sleep claimed him within minutes.


	13. Chapter 13

Jury glanced up from the book he was skimming as motion caught his eye. It was Matt, walking calmly across the damp grass field.

He did a double take, then watched the redhead's progress furtively with his head lowered. This meant that Mello was alone in the secluded spot by the stream where those two liked to study. He almost couldn't believe it. He'd been waiting for this to happen for so long—no teachers were out patrolling the grounds, he had more than an hour before his next class, Mello had his rosary with him, and he was finally alone. It was the perfect set of circumstances.

"Hey, Kentin!" he hissed. His friend glanced up at him with raised eyebrows. He jerked his head towards Matt's departing form, and Kentin's eyes widened immediately in understanding. They both scrambled to their feet, and Linda followed suit immediately.

He'd been planning his revenge ever since the day Mello had beaten him up. That single moment had turned him into the House laughingstock. Everyone gave him shit for getting beaten up by _Mello_, the girliest boy in Wammy's House. The worst part was that Mello had somehow actually gotten him to _beg and plead_. Jury had gone over the incident a thousand times in his mind, trying to figure out exactly how he'd managed to lose to someone so much younger and smaller than he was. The conclusion he had eventually come to was that Mello had been so frightening in that moment _because of _how unintimidating he looked, rather than in spite of it. There was just something viscerally terrifying about seeing someone so delicate transform into a rage-fueled whirlwind of flying limbs and elbows. It was like being savaged by a bunny.

But today he was going to get back some of his own. Mello had been stupid not to watch his back. Jury had been glaring at the blonde in the halls and across the library, all but walking right up to him and announcing that he was holding a grudge. Mello had been ignoring it, much to his infuriation. His eyes would skitter over Jury's posturing and dirty looks like he wasn't even there. It made his blood boil.

They rounded the final copse of trees and found Mello lying on his stomach, feet bouncing up and down idly as he pored over a textbook. He perked up when he saw them and stared warily. "What do you want?"

"I came here for a rematch," sneered Jury, crossing his arms across his chest.

Now Mello scrambled to his feet. He met Jury's eyes defiantly, his lips wearing their signature half-smirk. "Oh, so you want me to beat you up again?" He gave an affected shrug. "I'm game."

Jury was taken aback. There wasn't a hint of worry in Mello's demeanor. He had expected for him to try to worm out of it, to start calculating an escape route from the moment Jury appeared. He had thought he'd get the chance to call him chicken. But nothing like that was happening. Mello was purely cocky, and it was absolutely maddening.

"I'm definitely going to win!" Jury exclaimed. Mello just smiled, an expression that conveyed a mix of amusement and threat. Even Jury had to admit that that had been a pretty poor example of trash talk. He could see he wasn't going to score any points with words. No matter—their size difference alone would be enough to put this fight in the bag for him.

He rushed Mello. Mello took a step back and to the left and Jury easily altered his trajectory to catch him, hands balled into fists—

Mello's lunge forward caught him completely by surprise. The smaller boy ducked under his swing with ease and impacted him full-force in the chest. He was knocked over backwards and borne to the ground before he could comprehend what was happening. Then Mello was straddling him and his hands closed about his neck. Belated realization flashed through Jury. Mello had read his intentions and had acted to thwart them. The damned American had used brains to overcome his lack of brawn. Anger and helpless infuriation filled him. Mello was second, and he had employed his genius today; and Jury, the lowly ranked fourteenth, had walked right into it. It was too humiliating for words.

He couldn't lose to Mello again, he just couldn't. Jury grabbed the hands around his throat and jerked, but the blonde's superior position was enough to keep him in place. He scrabbled at Mello's arms, but the kid didn't relent even when he drew blood. His mind frantically cast about for a weakness he could employ—and found one. That long, pretty blonde hair of Mello's. Here his size advantage served him well as he easily reached a handful of hair and jerked on it with all of his strength. Mello cried out in pain, and Jury yanked harder and harder. But Mello didn't give in, and his vision was starting to darken, and his lungs were burning and he was starting to feel real panic. This wasn't turning out anything like he had envisioned. He was in over his head.

Kentin and Linda evidently agreed with him, because they chose that moment to intervene. Relief coursed through him as Mello was off of him. He gasped and spluttered as he tried to regain his breath. He thought his two friends would take Mello down with ease—hardly glorious for him, but it got the job done—but Mello didn't go quietly. He was putting up a titanic struggle, writhing and kicking and biting and elbowing. Jury realized that he was going to have to lend his aid, so he jumped into the fray. It was terribly awkward with three of them grabbing at one person, and Jury snarled a vicious string of curses as he got clawed in the face and then took a glancing blow to the balls. It was unbelievable how much fight Mello had in him, he was like a wild animal! It took a full minute before they were finally able to wrestle him to the ground.

At last, Linda had Mello's legs in her grip and Kentin was twisting his arms behind his back. The blonde lay on his side, his eyes spitting fire up at Jury. Still enraged and in pain, Jury shouted at him. "You arrogant little shit! We'll teach you a lesson!" Then he kicked him viciously in the stomach several times over. Mello cried out in pain with each impact.

Then Jury regained some measure of control over himself. As satisfying as this was, there were more damaging things he could be doing right now. Everyone knew that Mello was the only religious one at Wammy's House, and that he was sensitive about it. He usually hid his rosary in Matt's room so that nobody would mess with it or tease him about it. Jury grinned wolfishly and snatched it from his pocket.

Mello instantly stilled. "Give that back," he growled.

"Or what?" taunted Jury. "You going to make me?"

"Yes!"

Anger crackled through him. Even now, the kid didn't have the grace to be cowed. Jury kicked him hard. "You're not in any position to be talking to me that way!" Another kick. "I can just snap this in half and crush it to bits any time I want, if I feel like it!"

"No you can't, asshole," sneered Mello. His lips were twisted into a nasty smirk, despite his pain, and his eyes met Jury's evenly. "Because you can't hold me here forever. Sooner or later these guys will have to let me up—and then I'll kill you."

His gaze was full of so much intensity, his words delivered with such precision that for a dizzying moment, Jury wondered if he meant it literally. His mind provided a horribly unnerving image of waking up in the middle of the night and finding himself face-to-face with a knife-wielding Mello.

He shivered. This wasn't going how it was supposed to go, not at all. Mello was at the mercy of the three of them right now, and yet he still managed to be the one calling the shots! Jury clearly needed a different strategy. His eyes narrowed as one occurred to him.

"Why the hell do you want this thing back so badly anyway? It's a piece of junk." Mello's eyes flashed, and he knew he was on the right track. "It's for a stupid religion that nobody with half a brain would believe anyway."

"That's not true!" exclaimed Mello immediately. "God is real."

Jury smiled unpleasantly at his reaction. This was what he should have done from the beginning. "What an idiotic thing to say. Who would believe in something so irrational? Maybe that's why you can't climb higher than _second._"

Mello's eyes widened to an almost frightening degree, and Jury mentally congratulated himself for hitting the jackpot. "Shut up!" he shouted.

Jury swung the rosary tauntingly in front of his face. "Oh come on, don't lie. You can't hide it. No matter how hard you try, you can't beat Near. He's the real Successor to L, and everybody knows it but you."

"You're a damned liar!" shouted Mello. "What do you know? _Fourteen._"

That burned, but Jury resisted the impulse to rise to that bait. Mello's temper might intimidate people, but now Jury could see that it was also his weakness. He cocked his head and adopted an exaggerated thinking pose. "Oh yeah…I heard your parents left this—" He bounced the rosary up and down so that the cross on the end danced through the air. "—on you when they threw you away."

Mello's jaw clenched visibly and his eyes flashed, and Jury swallowed he urge to crow triumphantly. This was victory. He hadn't known whether there was any truth at all to that rumor, but that reaction told him everything he needed to know. What else could he use? Oh yes—he'd heard Mello say that he didn't remember his parents. "You must've been pretty young then," he continued with deliberate calm. "What were you—a year old? A month? Did your personality suck this much even back then, or were you just a really ugly baby?" Mello stared at him, teeth bared, breathing hard. Jury smirked and continued. "So your parents dumped you, their ugly and useless kid, along with this ugly and useless thing. How fitting. Maybe they could tell even then that you'd grow up to be a failure, perpetually lagging behind a kid that can't even dress himself. Huh. _I'd _get rid of you. Who wouldn't?"

It happened so fast. One second Mello was on his knees, thoroughly defeated; the next he had sunk his teeth into Kentin's arm and knocked one of Linda's legs out from underneath her. Kentin was screaming and trying to yank his arm free of Mello's bite, but he held on like a pit bull through three vicious jerks. Jury tried to get a grip on him, but it was too late—his control over the situation had already been completely broken. For several minutes it was an all-out brawl, with the superior number on Jury's side working against them as the close quarters made them just as likely to score on one another as on Mello. The blonde managed to wrest his rosary out of Jury's grip during the melee.

Then Kentin finally got a good blow in, catching Mello in the side of the head with his knee. The blonde flopped limply to the ground, momentarily stunned. Jury and his cohorts quickly scrambled to their feet.

"Fine, I'll let you have that back," Jury sneered of Mello's rosary. "Out of the goodness of my heart." He tried not to acknowledge that it was also because he feared what Mello would do to him if he didn't, and kicked the prone boy in the ribs one more time for good measure. "Come on guys, let's forget about this loser." He turned and strode away. The other two followed his lead. He glanced behind himself once, and saw that Mello was already back on his hands and knees. A confused-looking Matt passed them a moment later. As they walked back to the school proper, Jury was left with a sinking sensation where he had expected to feel the rush of success. He wondered if that altercation could really be called a victory.


	14. Chapter 14

Matt chewed on his lip worriedly as he played his game. It was three minutes till eight, and Mello hadn't arrived at the classroom yet. He hadn't been at breakfast either, nor in the showers, and he had neglected to come by Matt's room last night. Matt didn't know where he was. He had assumed that his friend was involved in an intense study binge in response to having placed two points behind Near in yesterday's chemistry exam, but his absence from the classroom grew more worrying with each passing minute. It wasn't like him to be late.

The clock ticked to eight, and the bell started to toll. Still no Mello. Matt frowned and flipped his game off.

Mrs. Westbrook was evidently thinking along the same lines. "Where is Mello this morning?" she inquired. The question was ostensibly directed to the whole class, but her eyes rested on Matt. "Is he ill?"

"I dunno," responded Matt uncertainly. "I don't think so."

"Hmm," said Mrs. Westbrook with a scowl. "Well, the rest of us will just have to get started without him." She turned to the board and picked up a piece of chalk.

Matt made an abrupt decision and jumped up. He was almost to the door by the time Mrs. Westbrook caught on and called after him in exasperation. He pretended not to hear her and made his successful escape into the hall.

He didn't like this. Where could Mello be? Had he accidentally fallen asleep somewhere after studying all night? Matt checked the library and the reading rooms and even the play rooms, all to no avail. Was he in the infirmary? The cracked rib Jury had given him had healed up a week ago, but Matt checked anyway. Mello wasn't there. His worry increasing by the moment, Matt went to Mello's bedroom next. The blonde never overslept, but he was running out of other ideas.

The door to his room was shut. Matt knocked hesitantly. "Mel? You in there?" No response. He grabbed the doorknob, then paused. "I'm going to come in," he warned, just in case. Mello didn't always take surprises well.

This time, the response was immediate. "Don't fucking come in here!" Mello screamed.

Matt froze, then yanked his hand back from the doorknob as if he had been burned. His ears reddened at the use of the f-word. Mello had never yelled at him like that before. Part of him wanted to slink back to his bedroom and cry, but the rest of him was now incredibly worried about his friend. "Why not? What's wrong?"

"Leave me alone!" was the shouted answer.

That settled it. Something terrible had happened. "I'm going to come in!"

"I said _no!_" But Matt was already pushing the door open.

He had barely managed to set one foot inside when a projectile book nearly hit him in the face. He dodged just in time. "Stop it! Get out!" Mello himself impacted Matt an instant later, shoving him bodily out the door.

"Ah—Mel—" Matt grabbed the hands that were shoving at him. They were bloody and raw across the knuckles. Mello's eyes were puffy and red beneath the death-glare his face currently wore. Matt gasped. Torn-up hands were a common consequence of Mello's anger, but tears were extremely unusual.

"Let go of me! Let go!" Mello jerked violently back towards his room and thrashed, but Matt managed to keep his grip on his wrists. He shoved forward, and their combined momentum carried them through the doorway. The moment he had gained entry, he relinquished his grip before Mello could dislocate his shoulder. The blonde immediately screamed in frustration, kicked the bedroom door shut with a resounding thud and dashed across the room to huddle in the corner.

Matt gaped in awe and fear as he got a clear view of his surroundings. The room was completely and utterly trashed. Books, papers, school supplies, clothing, bedding—all had been torn from their rightful homes on shelves and in drawers and scattered. The shelves, drawers and bed themselves had followed—everything movable had joined the fray. The mattress lolled halfway onto the ground. The dresser was pushed over. The floor was barely visible. Everything breakable had been shattered. Mello had dashed across the treacherous obstacle course like it was nothing, but the smears of blood he had left behind attested that he had paid a price for it. There was older blood on both the floor and the walls, enough that Mello had probably been treating himself recklessly for several hours.

Matt's heart was in his throat as he picked his way carefully across the room. Mello was facing the wall, hugging his knees tightly, face buried. His shoulders were shaking. Matt knelt. "Mello? What's wrong?" he asked in his most gentle tone. He reached out and hesitantly touched his friend's shoulder, and was immediately rewarded with a backhand. He was nearly fast enough to evade it, but the tips of Mello's fingers caught his nose just hard enough to make his eyes water.

"I said leave me alone!" It came out as almost a scream.

Matt reeled back and considered his options as he waited out the sneezing fit brought on by Mello's glancing blow. None seemed terribly promising. Then Mello started crying again. Matt sat down on a pile of bloodstained shirts just outside of arm's reach and watched him. "Mel, what's wrong? What happened?"

Mello didn't answer. He just sat there, sobbing quietly and clutching his rosary. Matt was frightened. Even the time Mello had cried his eyes out when he stopped being friends with Near was nothing compared to this. Matt couldn't stand to just wait there awkwardly. He inched forward bit by bit, trying not to spook his friend.

Then Mello spoke. His voice was little more than a hollow whisper. "I can't beat him."

Matt leaned forward. "What?"

"I can't beat him. _Near._" His voice was louder now, raw with emotion. "He's better than me. Smarter than me. I can't win against him." He finally looked up, and his eyes were haunted.

Matt shook his head. "That's not true, you—"

"It's true!" screamed Mello, the sudden volume making Matt jump. "Don't lie to me!" He leapt up and dodged past Matt's reaching arms easily. Matt was still trying to scramble to his feet when Mello reached the one unbroken thing remaining in the room: the windows. "I can't win, I'm worthless, I should be dead!" His words were punctuated by his fist smashing through the glass again and again. Shards fell tinkling to the floor until there was nothing left of the window but jagged edges. Matt gaped, at a complete loss, until he registered the word "dead." Then his mind unfolded a terrible potential picture of the next few seconds.

"No!" He moved. He caught Mello's waist when the blonde was halfway up onto the sill. Mello struggled, but Matt clung with all of his strength. "You can't!" he gasped. His friend writhed in his grip. Matt's mind moved like lightning, searching for anything that might reach Mello in this state. He found it. "Suicide means your soul goes straight to Hell for eternity! You're the one who told me that! You can't do that, Mel!"

"It's what I deserve!" Mello brought his arms down on the jagged shards that lined the bottom of the window frame. Glass plunged into flesh. Red leaked to the surface, first slowly, then thickening to droplets and streams when he lifted his arms again. Matt stared stupidly, completely unprepared for his desperate appeal to Mello's religion to fall on such deaf ears. Mello brought his arms down brutally onto the glass twice more before Matt's body unfroze.

"Stop it!" He yanked with all his might and tore Mello away from the remains of the window. Mello screamed his defiance and struggled, covering Matt's face and shoulders with a hail of punches. Matt bore him to the ground and pinned him. Mello tore at his hair and bit his hand savagely, but Matt barely noticed. All of his attention was fixed on the horrifying amount of blood Mello was losing. There were rivers of it, an _ocean_ of it. It coated his arms and was spattering Matt and the surrounding carnage that had once been a bedroom. Terror galvanized Matt's strength, and he held firm. Mello gave one final thrash and then burst into tears.

"Why, Matt? Why? You're supposed to be my friend!" There was so much anguish in his voice that tears sprang to Matt's eyes as well. "I hate you! I hate you Matt!"

"Well I like you and I don't care what you say!" Matt screamed back, his voice cracking with the emotion behind that statement. Mello stilled for a moment and Matt's heart leapt, thinking he had made an impression. But then his friend writhed back into a full-force struggle. Matt gritted his teeth against the flying elbows that were pummeling him and held firm. His eyes were drawn inexorably back to Mello's arms, swamped in blood. People died of blood loss. People died by slitting their wrists. Panic rose in him. How quickly did that happen? How much blood could someone lose before dying? His mind flashed a horrible mental picture of Mello stilling, his eyes fluttering closed, and then his chest becoming unnaturally still as the pool of blood expanded around him.

The thought was enough to make him nauseous. It couldn't happen like that, it _couldn't. _And yet, his mind knew that it _could. _Terror and despair gripped him. _NO,_ he thought savagely, the word coming from the deepest part of his being. _Please, no! _He didn't know who the plea was addressed to, and didn't care. Mello's God? Matt had not the slightest bit of urge to scoff right now, not the slightest bit of pride or cynicism against the idea. If Mello's God could help right now, he would gladly get on his knees and beg.

A different sound. Matt's heart leapt. It was a sound from outside, not part of the madness that was happening in the room. After a moment that felt like an age, they resolved themselves into someone pounding on the door and shouting.

"Let me in!" came the muffled words. "Open this door! Matt, open up!"

Matt's head jerked up and he stared desperately at the door. He wanted to run to it and throw it open and let the adults come in and contain Mello. But there was no telling what the blonde would do if Matt let him loose. He could commit grievous bodily harm in the time it took Matt to cross the room.

"No," hissed Mello, as if his body language wasn't enough to convey the same meaning. "I'll kill you if you open it!"

He couldn't afford to let Mello go. He would just have to wait it out until the adults managed to get in on their own. Surely they could do that!

Seconds ticked by, each one feeling like a year. There were multiple voices outside now, and then suddenly—

--the sound of a key in the lock. Matt's heart leapt. Mello renewed his struggles, but there was only one more moment of desperate clinging before hands grasped them both and pulled them into the air. Mello shrieked and thrashed, but then seemed to realize the futility of his position and went completely limp. Mr. Davies slung his still form over his shoulder. The crowd outside parted silently to let him pass.

The worst of it was over, then. Matt tried to keep his cool and answer Roger's questions about what had caused Mello's fit, but he was so distraught that he couldn't concentrate. He didn't know much beyond that it had somehow involved Near, anyway. Eventually Roger took pity on him and left him alone. He rushed to the infirmary as quickly as his weak knees would carry him. Mrs. Drewett assured him that Mello had been in no real danger of dying from his wrist injuries. The bleeding would not have become life-threatening for another twenty to thirty minutes. He had received some stitches, and would be just fine in a few days.

But the storm hadn't passed. Mello remained in his infirmary room and refused to see anyone, even Matt.

That state of affairs stretched to hours, then days. Mello drank water and was at least nibbling at the meals that were left regularly by his bedside, but he wouldn't speak or acknowledge anyone's presence. Matt went by his room three times a day, but to no avail. Once he emerged and found Roger watching the doorway hopefully; it galled him to have to shake his head in defeat.

On the fourth day, Mello finally spoke to him.

Matt entered the room to find Mello hunched up on the corner of the bed against the wall, hugging his knees. His heartbeat surged with hope; this was the first time he'd been anything but horizontal. "Mello?" he called softly. There was no response. He padded across the room to the edge of the bed. Mello's face was partially hidden in shadows, but Matt could see blue eyes watching him. "Mello?" he repeated.

"Matt…" he whispered back.

The relief that coursed through Matt was nearly strong enough to make him giggle. He clamped his jaw shut over that urge and rested his hands on the edge of the bed. There were so many questions to ask, he didn't know where to even start. Everything that came to mind seemed horribly awkward. In the end, he said, "Can I come…sit by you?"

Mello watched him for a long moment before he replied. "Okay."

Matt took off his shoes and crawled across the bed to lean on the wall next to him. Mello's lower arms were covered in gauze bandages. There were tears on his cheeks.

"I'm second," said Mello dully. "Everyone knows it. I lost. I can't beat him. I'm worthless!" The tears fell harder with each admission, until the final one ended in a sob. They were all untrue, but Matt knew that arguing with him wouldn't help right now. Instead, he dared to reach out and rest one hand on Mello's shoulder.

Mello accepted his tacit offer of comfort. He unfolded from the corner and slumped against Matt. Matt wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in close.

Mello wept. His sobs were awful, gut-wrenching sounds that tore at Matt's insides. Tears soaked through his shirt and ran in rivulets down his skin. His legs started to fall asleep and his arms were getting tired, but he refused to change position. He embraced Mello fiercely, hoping that his touch would make him understand that he was worthwhile and wonderful no matter what his House ranking. But Mello just kept crying, his sobs bereft and filled with despair. It was making Matt cry too, he couldn't help it. He wished desperately that there was something he could do, some salve he could provide for Mello's wounded spirit. He ached to find a way to make Mello see himself through Matt's eyes, so that he wouldn't have any doubts about his worth anymore. He would give anything, any part of himself to Mello if it would allay his suffering.

Time passed in agonizing slowness, and eventually Mello's wracking sobs began to abate. He lifted his head from Matt's chest and wiped his nose with one hand as he struggled to catch his breath. His face was blotchy, his nose and eyes red and swollen. He still looked beautiful.

"M—Matty," he managed between his shuddering breaths. "You're here…with me…you're so nice…I don't deserve it! Near's first. You should forget about me, and—and go be—be his loyal friend—" Tears were falling again, his words getting lost amongst the sobs. "Near's worthy. Forget about me—"

"Never!" cried Matt. He seized Mello and pulled him against himself fiercely. "Shut up! I would never do that! Near's no substitute for you!"

Mello burst into tears afresh. His fingernails dug into Matt's sides so hard it hurt, but he didn't care. He just held his best friend tightly.

The storm was shorter this time around. Mello gradually calmed, his tears slowing, until he was just lying against Matt, trembling. "Thank you, Matty," he mumbled. "Thank you…"

He was still being struck by involuntary shudders and hitches in his breathing. Matt closed his eyes and buried his nose in Mello's hair. He rubbed his back gently, reassuringly. He moved his face lower, to the part of Mello's cheek he could reach, and nuzzled him. It turned seamlessly into a soft kiss. It should be okay; Mello had kissed him on the cheek once. Matt moved his lips farther down on Mello's face and kissed him again, then again. At that point he had run out of available cheek, so he gently lifted Mello's head up from his shoulder to make his face more accessible. Mello's eyes met his dully, his lips twisted downwards with grief. He looked so fragile in this moment. Matt wanted to give him anything, everything. All he was. He pulled his precious best friend in close and kissed more, first in a few places on his cheekbone, brushing the tears off with his lips, tasting salty warmth. Then across his forehead, down his other cheek, his nose. His chin. Mello's arms had relaxed from their death grip on him to a tight embrace, and his breathing had calmed, almost synchronized with Matt's. Matt paused with his lips resting lightly near the corner of Mello's mouth. There was only one place left to kiss. He didn't know if that was okay, but it felt right. He touched his lips softly to Mello's. Then he moved on, repeating places he had already been.

Mello wordlessly dropped his head back to Matt's shoulder and clung to him. Matt ran his fingers through his hair over and over again, willing him to feel better. Mello's breathing returned gradually to normal, and then slowed into the rhythm of sleep. Matt's eyes were drooping too, and he realized that this ordeal had left him exhausted. He gently tilted Mello into a horizontal position, keeping his arms around him the whole time. Then he curled up against his friend and went to sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

Mello woke up slowly. He didn't want to. His sleep had been deep and blissfully free of dreams. The waking world brought back the pain of reality with crushing force. The humiliation of knowing he had been beaten. The frustration of knowing that he had failed himself and God. The agony of seeing his dreams crumble into sand and slip through his fingers. Black despair settled over him, a feeling that was fast becoming familiar. Tears pricked the backs of his eyes.

He was second. No—it was that he _wasn't first_. It didn't matter what his rank was beyond that; only the number one student could succeed L. The rest of them were all effectively tied as losers. He was average, nondescript, completely unremarkable. It was so unfair! _He_ should be the one with crowds of students standing around and fawning over his scores, _he _should be the one winning L's deduction exams, and _he _should be the one who grew up to be envied and venerated all around the world! But that would never happen, now, because he wasn't good enough to hack it. His rival was going to have all of those things in his place.

It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't Near. If it was Matt, he could handle it. He wouldn't exactly be happy about it, but he could adjust. Even if it was Temper, he could learn to deal with it. But not _Near. _Near, the one person in the House who had always snubbed him. The person that Mello had tried so long and hard to befriend, only to be rebuffed at every turn and ultimately betrayed. Near, the boy who called him a toy and calculatedly used him as a pack mule without the slightest shred of remorse. Near, the one person who, even after nearly four years of association, didn't care about him _at all. _He spoke to Mello with callous disregard for his feelings and showed no respect for his intelligence. Mello was certain that were he to run away from the House forever, the boy wouldn't even react. He probably hadn't even noticed that Mello had been missing these past few days. Everyone else had, he knew. Many of them had tried to stop by and visit. Mrs. Drewett hadn't let them in, fortunately, but she had mentioned it when bringing him his meals. Near hadn't tried to stop by, though. He didn't even give enough of a shit to wonder if Mello was all right, much less put himself out as far as going all the way to the infirmary.

It made his blood boil, made tears of frustration spring to his eyes. The sheer weight of indifference that Near directed at him was intolerable. It would be much better if he tried to be nasty. That would mean that they had a real competition going on, that Near considered him a worthy opponent. But the younger boy just ignored him. He didn't think Mello was enough of a threat to warrant his attention, not even a shred of worry. Near simply dismissed him as unimportant. Mello had arrived at that conclusion hundreds upon hundreds of times, but it still never failed to knock the wind out of him far more effectively than Jury's kicks had. No matter how hard he worked, Near simply _didn't take him seriously._

He hated it, _hated _it with every fiber of his being. And it was so humiliating to get that attitude from_ Near,_ the boy who couldn't walk fifty steps on his own; the boy who was still playing with infant toys despite being eleven. It was so _wrong._ How could Near possibly succeed L? He couldn't do anything by himself!

And yet—he had beaten Mello. How could Mello ever walk through the House with his head held high again? Everyone would be smirking at him—in fact, they probably already were, probably had been for a long time! He just hadn't realized it. He was so stupid!

And what would he do when he saw Near? Feel horribly ashamed of himself and want to die. He couldn't avoid seeing him, either; almost all of their classes were together. Actually, they were forced to spend more time together than apart in a given day. He associated almost every place in the House with Near for one reason or another; the kid filled the hallways with his cloying presence. Near was as unavoidable as he was intolerable. Mello was going to end up spending every day in his shadow, choking on his shame and loss. The way he used to feel in those wretched moments when he learned his score was lower than Near's would now become the way he felt all the time. He was going to be miserable, and he was going to be miserable constantly—every second of every day. He would have to learn to live with despair and humiliation; they would be the very cornerstones of his existence from now on.

Visceral revulsion coursed through Mello's body at that thought. He shuddered, and bile rose dangerously in his throat. He couldn't live like that, he _couldn't. _That was more than defeat, it was death! He felt the prospect like hands squeezing the breath out of his lungs, like spikes stabbing through his gut. He couldn't just give up, it would destroy him, crush his spirit and leave something broken in its place. God had given him his genius mind for a reason, and it wasn't so he could give up when things got tough. No, he had to fight back! He was trapped right now, with Near on one side and defeat looming large on all the others. Near had him cornered like an animal, his existence reduced to the desperate struggle for his very survival. And like a cornered animal, he would strike back viciously, far more viciously than Near was prepared for. It was kill or be killed now, it was as simple as that. And he would _kill_.

Mello rolled to his hands and knees, fingers digging into the sheets. His teeth bared of their own accord. He would make Near pay dearly, make him suffer tenfold for every second of pain that he had felt. He wouldn't stop until Near was the one looking failure in the face and begging for his mercy. Mello's heart was pounding and he was short of breath. For a moment he was energized with pure defiance, and the world was a very simple place. There was just himself, Near, and a straight path connecting him to the future.

Then his logical mind kicked in again. What, exactly, would he _do? _It was all well and good to be determined, but he needed a concrete plan of action. How would he achieve those goals?

He prayed about it and turned the problem over in his mind, and bit by bit, the answer came to him. He would study hard, harder than he ever had before. He would push himself relentlessly. He didn't have a photographic memory; Near did. That gave him a huge advantage. In order to overcome it, Mello would just have to study for longer hours. If Near spent ten minutes memorizing facts, he would spend twenty-five. And if Near spent ten minutes for each of their eight classes, Mello would just have to spend two hundred. There was no way around it. He would skip sleep. He would read textbooks during class changes. He would solve problems while he lay next to Matt at night. And if that wasn't enough, he would do _more. _He could be better than Near—hell, he sneered mentally, he already _was _better than him in many ways. So Near remembered the date that the Tang Dynasty began and Mello was off by four years; so what? It was just an obscure fact, it didn't mean that Near actually _thought _better than he did. People who layered their adulation on Near for nailing exams of that type just didn't get it. Couldn't they understand that it wasn't important, that it was solving cases effectively that truly mattered? It was logic and deduction that counted, not memorization! And Mello could hold his own in the subjects that required original thought. Writing, philosophy, the sciences—those exams were anyone's guess. And, of course, there was the matter of the foreign languages. Near always did abysmally at those, for whatever reason, and was only taking half of the standard complement. It was such an obvious shortcoming that Mello wondered how the younger boy's pride allowed that state of affairs to persist.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Near was completely unsuited to being a detective in L's paradigm. He couldn't do anything on his own—he relied on the House staff for everything, from transportation to feeding and clothing him. And he sucked at dealing with people. He couldn't read them, not the tiniest bit. Hardly surprising, from a boy who didn't seem to possess any human emotion of his own. Mello was a much better and stronger person on all counts, so who really cared if he forgot the capital of Cameroon and Near didn't? Mello would undeniably make a better Successor. All he had to do was make others see what was already true. And he would do it—he would do whatever it took. It was that or death.

Renewed determination and energy filled him. Of course he could do it. He was _Mello, _after all. He walked God's path.

He sat up. "Matty." His friend was asleep on the far side of the bed. Mello shook him, and for once he came fully awake right away. "Matt."

Matt's emerald-green eyes locked on his and searched them deeply. "What is it?"

"I'm going to fight," said Mello softly. "I'm going to beat him. I can't give up when things are the way they are now. Near is not better than me! I—I can't let him be better than me! I'm going to win!"

Matt's eyes widened. Then he surged into a sitting position and grabbed Mello's shoulders, startling him into an inadvertent backwards jerk. His eyes moved over Mello's face intently, and his lips slowly spread into a wide grin. "You're back! Mello, it's you! I'm—oh, I'm so glad!" He threw his arms around Mello's neck and pulled him into a tight embrace.

Mello appreciated how nice he was being, but this was taking time. He'd already lost a lot of that during these last few days; Near would have taken advantage of it to pull farther ahead. He needed to get to work. He extricated himself gently from Matt's arms and told his friend to go back to sleep. Matt hesitated for a moment, but then did as he was told.

Mello was up as soon as he stilled. He brought the desk lamp and a pile of Matt's books down to the floor, then opened the history textbook and began reading.


	16. Chapter 16

Mello was as good as his word after that. He devoted as much of his waking life as he possibly could to studying. His focus during class was razor-sharp, his mind working on overdrive to understand and retain all of the material. He proofread his problem sets and essays three times before turning them in. He silently reviewed facts in his head during meals. The drive to _win_ was with him at all times. It kept him up at night, tossing and turning long after he had finally put his books aside and attempted to sleep. It woke him up early in the mornings to pick the very same textbooks back up. It colored all of his thoughts during the day and all of his dreams at night. Matt complained that he had gotten boring and was never around, but Mello didn't budge in his determination.

Near still treated him just as dismissively as ever. He would shuffle over and casually point out a mistake on Mello's paper, as calm as if he were simply noting the color of the ink. He would chide Mello disapprovingly if he found him during one of the rare moments he was doing something other than studying. He was so condescending, it drove Mello up the walls. He tried to strike back, but Near took his derogatory and inflammatory comments in stride. Mello couldn't tell whether he was smugly feigning indifference because he had figured out that that bothered Mello more than anything else, or if he simply couldn't tell that his words were intended to be nasty. Either way, it was maddening.

Mello dealt with his mounting frustration by channeling it into determination. He redoubled his efforts. The pressure was on, and it was much, much more intense than it had ever been before. It pressed in on him at all times, unwaveringly, every second of every day. There was no relief. It ground against him inexorably, with all of the slow but unstoppable force of plate tectonics. Landmasses were smashing into him, plowing up mountain ranges and sending up great plumes of white-hot magma. Continental pressures, unspeakably powerful, bore down on him. He could feel them changing him, warping him. He felt fault lines and fissures begin to form within his mind, and widen a little bit more each day. His patience frayed down to nothing. Constant anger burned within him, ready to boil over at the slightest provocation. His temper got the better of him more and more often. The staff stopped fixing the spare bedroom that he tore apart, just left it a mess of shattered glass and ruined furniture. He switched to the one next door, but they didn't fix that either. His fists were constantly torn up, never having time to heal between one fit and the next. The part of him that still retained a sense of perspective watched on in amazement as he gave Daniel a bloody nose for sitting in his favorite chair or screamed in Temper's face for being too slow at the computer. There was a time when he would never have reacted like this. He contemplated the idea that he might be losing his mind. He wondered if he'd be able to tell if he did. He acknowledged the possibility that some day one of those hairline fractures might crack open and shatter him into a million pieces, sending him over the edge forever.

But it didn't. He was equal to the challenge. He was a sword being forged in the flames. The heat and the pounding hammer toughened him, tempered him, transformed him from shapeless raw materials into something honed and deadly. He pulled alongside Near in all of their classes. He told himself that the thrill of victory was worth the cost to him in other areas. He was winning. He was on top of the world.

That was on the majority of days, anyway. But sometimes he had the really bad days. Usually they were brought on when Near pulled out a win on an exam. Their classmates would cluster around and congratulate him, exclaiming in awe over the big, red "100% A+" across the top. To Mello, those moments felt like death. There were no words for the intensity of self-loathing that they awakened in him. He would run out of the room, but often he would halt just outside the door, glued in place by his weak knees and a sort of morbid fascination. He would hear all of his classmates' praising words, each one a knife that stabbed into his gut. His lungs would freeze in his chest and his heart would beat so fast he thought it would burst. He would get light-headed and his gorge would rise, making him gag, sometimes so much that he had to make a run for the bathroom and throw up his last meal. Somewhere in the midst of it, his thoughts would shade towards stunned amazement at how strongly his feelings were able to affect him physically.

He could never simply forget about it and move on. It always took hours, often the rest of the day, before he could let it go. Sometimes he would cry for hours, other times he would clench his fists so tightly that his fingernails drew blood from his palms and punch things until his hands hurt enough that he felt like he'd paid for his failure. He had a shoebox full of glass shards that had once been dishes hidden under his bed for the worst days. He didn't go to Matt if there was any way he could avoid it. He didn't want his friend to witness his shame, and he didn't deserve to take up his time. Night would fall and he would lie awake in bed for hours, plagued by images of all the different ways he deserved to die. He would picture his torso being run through by a hundred spikes, his body being crushed under a thousand ton weight, torn limb from limb, eviscerated, burned alive, drowned, decapitated. He pictured the pools of blood forming around his still form, saw the way his chest would look when it no longer rose and fell, imagined the way the flames would feel on his bare flesh. It went on long after it stopped feeling like some sort of righteous punishment for his failures, until he was borderline hysterical and would give anything for the torment to end. Distraught, he would clutch his rosary and pray desperately. God remained silent, though, and Mello knew it was because the whole situation was caused by his own shortcomings. God _couldn't_ make him good enough, not without interfering with free will. His hands were tied. It was _Mello's_ responsibility to become better, and then he wouldn't feel this way anymore. Sometimes his prayers were answered in the form of exhausted sleep that kept him dream-free and practically comatose until the morning.

When they weren't, he sometimes got desperate enough to go find Matt. Matt woke up for him no matter the hour of the night. He would hold him and whisper sweet, soothing words until Mello was able to calm down. At first he thought it was highly ironic that Matt was able to bring him this kind of relief when God couldn't, but then it gradually dawned on him that this _was _God's way of answering his prayers. He had sent Mello here, to Wammy's House, where he could be by Matt's side. It was His hand that had brought them together, there could be no doubt about it. Matt was his anchor in a tumultuous world, his grounding point. Matt kept him from tipping permanently over the edge. Mello started whispering it to him. "God sent you to me." Matt would snort and say, "What the hell are you talking about?" Then he got more used to it, and he would just chuckle and say, "If you say so." It was strange that He had picked a nonbeliever to serve such an important role in Mello's life. There was probably something cosmologically significant in that, although he couldn't for the life of him say what. He wished there was someone at Wammy's who knew more about Catholicism than he did that he could ask, but of course there wasn't.

The emotional gale had always passed by morning. When Mello woke up, it was new day, a fresh start in his fight with Near. The fireworks of the previous night had faded into the past, leaving him calm and refreshed. He knew that a repeat could be avoided by simply not making a mistake on the next exam.

He would smile and touch the sleeping Matt's hair briefly in thanks. Then he would slip out of bed and throw himself back into his studying.


	17. Chapter 17

Mello had fallen into a routine, of sorts. Study, sleep, study, tests, all-too-brief visits with Matt, more studying. It was stressful, but it worked, somehow. He and Near were perpetually within three points of one another in the rankings. He beat Near on exams just as often as Near beat him, and spent about half the time in possession of that glorious, coveted title of "First." Life was fine.

Then something happened that changed everything.

Mello was reading the bible, something that he tried to steal five minutes from studying to do each day. He had read the whole thing many times, of course. He practically had it memorized. But today, one of the familiar passages suddenly clicked into place in his mind in a way that it never had before. He froze, mesmerized by the words "natural relations with women" and "men committing shameless acts with men" and "due penalty." For the first time, he realized what kind of "relations" and "acts" the passage was referring to. Now he understood why asking the nuns at his old orphanage about it had always produced the response, "When you're older, Mihael." He was belatedly embarrassed that he hadn't figured it out sooner.

Matt loomed hugely in his mind. _That's not us,_ he told himself silently. But he didn't really believe it. "Relations" with women meant having sex with them, but Mello was fairly certain that he was never going to want to do that. Everyone else in their whole class save Near liked girls by now. Only he and Matt had somehow missed that transition. Mello was sure that he was always going to want to touch Matt and be touched by him the way they did now. And that meant that, in a very real way, what he and Matt did together was a replacement for sex with a girl. They _had _to be exactly the kinds of "acts" Paul was talking about.

Mello couldn't look away. It was like this passage had been written just for him, like Paul was speaking straight to him across the intervening centuries. He suddenly felt very exposed as he thought about all of the millions of people who had read it over the years and understood, while he hadn't. It meant that what he and Matt were doing was engaging in wanton acts of lust, and according to this, they were _unnatural_ ones at that. It felt like a slap across the face. He hugged himself tightly. "I…I knew that," he whispered defensively. "Obviously it's unnatural." That was why no one else did it; everyone knew that boys were supposed to have sex with girls. "Obviously!" His mind raced, seeking some way to make it all right, but he came up empty. If Matt was a girl then they could get married. Then it wouldn't be fornication anymore and acts of lust between them would be all right. But Matt was a boy, so that option wasn't open to them; it would be unnatural forever.

He wiped tears off of his cheeks. He couldn't figure out what he had done wrong. He had been waiting patiently to start liking girls, but he had only ever been able to look at Matt. Maybe that was the problem. If Matt hadn't been there, maybe some of the girls would have captured his attention. If he had tried to plant the seeds of liking girls a year or two ago, surely they would have grown and blossomed. But now the ground was frozen over, and it was too late. He cursed his ignorance now. He hadn't realized the significance of what he was doing, playing with Matt when he should have been learning to like girls. Guilt and shame at his own stupidity washed over him. He wished he could go back and do it over now, and do it properly.

"But how was I supposed to know?" he whispered hoarsely. He had thought that liking girls would come naturally, like getting taller and growing pubic hair. No one had ever _told _him that he had to work at it. And Matt had always been there, by his side, with his too-pretty eyes and his upturned nose and his long lashes and that face of his that could melt Mello in his tracks. He felt like he had been sabotaged. "What was I supposed to do?" he demanded aloud, his voice plaintive this time. "You sent him to me!" It felt like God had played a cruel joke on him. How could He send Mello to the most attractive boy in the world like this, and then fault him for being drawn in? How could He dangle the prettiest piece of forbidden fruit in front of his eyes and then punish him for touching? Was He testing him? Was He toying with him, just to watch him suffer? It was cruel, unspeakably cruel. God had set him up for failure from the very beginning. God had betrayed him.

Mello shook his head frantically, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. That blasphemous conclusion was unthinkable, impossible. God loved him, and had always been with him, in his heart, protecting and guiding him. Even now, he could feel His presence. He read the words again through the blur or tears, hoping they would take on a different meaning, but they did not. They were there, clear and incontrovertible, telling him that what he was doing was wrong.

He spent the next few days wandering around in a haze as he tried to make sense of this new information. There were three facts. God was loving and merciful, not cruel and callous. God's plan had brought himself and Matt together. The way he felt about Matt was wrong. The three statements didn't all work at the same time. There was no way they could all be true at once. He tried to wrap his mind around it, to find any way to resolve the paradox, but he came up empty time and time again.

Matt picked up on the change in his attitude immediately. Mello brushed off his questions by saying that he was just busy studying. He quailed at the thought of admitting to Matt that his problem came from something written in the bible. Matt thought that his religion was garbage as it was; this would make him really angry and he would start a fight. As his questions became more and more insistent, Mello started actively avoiding him. It was too hard to be around him, with his pretty face and his pretty hair and his pretty skin that looked so soft and touchable. Just the sight of him made Mello want to do things that he now knew were sinful. He was sure that if he was around him for any length of time and didn't exert great control over himself, his hands would grow a mind of their own and end up…everywhere. Matt was his Achilles heel.

Matt took to playing his game in the same rooms where Mello studied, saying nothing, but projecting resentment with every fiber of his being so strongly that Mello had to face the opposite direction. He was quite aware of the irony that just when he had _finally _managed to get Matt to enjoy being touched, he could no longer touch him.

Certain things started to fall into place within his mind as he struggled with the problem. One was that the passage hadn't been written specially for him. Paul had been saying those things to other people, and that meant that there were others back then who had sinned in exactly the same way as himself and Matt. Perversely, this realization lent a kind of legitimacy to their relationship in his mind. They weren't pioneers in this, they were following a path that had been laid out by other people before them. There were probably even a few people, somewhere out there in the world beyond Wammy's House, that did the same things today.

Another was that he probably should have known right away that having Matt touch his dick was a sin, just because of how good it felt. Everything else that felt that good was a sin, after all. He supposed the idea that something so wonderful could come without a price was too good to be true.

He started to see things in a new light. Maybe this unwitting sinful behavior with Matt was what was holding him back from beating Near once and for all. Mello recommitted himself to being a good Christian and determinedly set about becoming New Mello. He limited his chocolate intake to one bar per day so as to avoid gluttony. He restrained all urges to snap at his classmates or speak disrespectfully to his teachers. He tried not to see himself as above his classmates, because that was pride. His peers started giving him odd looks, and Mrs. Westbrook even asked if he was feeling all right. He remained determinedly cheerful as he replied that he was. He shoved all thoughts of Matt out of his mind and replaced them with math and history. He was certain that this would be good for him, and that things would take a turn for the better.

It had the exact opposite effect. Life without Matt was terrible. His best friend had been his one relief from the constant stress; in his absence, Mello feared he might lose his mind at any moment. He was a pressure cooker with no mechanism of release. He couldn't concentrate on his studies while he was craving chocolate. It gave him a headache to censor all hints of meanness from his words all the time. Perhaps most trying of all was that his body became extremely restless. He was trying not to touch himself, because he couldn't avoid thinking about Matt when he did it, but it proved almost impossible. He had to fight getting erections when he was studying, when he was trying to fall asleep, even in class. He still dreamed about Matt at night, and he couldn't help it. His scores actually started to slip again. His frustration built up to an almost overwhelming level and finally spilled out into violence. "This is stupid!" he shouted while pounding his fists on the wall of his bedroom. "It's impossible! How can this be right?"

Then came the day that his attention wavered during class. His eyes wandered the room and settled on Matt. He was brushing his hair off of his forehead, and suddenly Mello was completely caught up in watching the cascade of multihued red strands fall back down. They caught the light reflectively, and made a strikingly beautiful contrast with his pale skin. Mello was abruptly nearly overwhelmed by the urge to touch. He missed Matt so much! What was being L's successor or leading a life without sin worth if he lost his best friend in the process? It would be a pyrrhic victory. Memories of the night he had first begun to come out of his funk over his competition with Near came rushing back to him. Matt's embrace, Matt's lips touching his face, Matt's bottomless emerald eyes holding his. Matt had kissed him on the lips that day. It had been in the midst of kisses to other more innocent places, and so without fanfare that it hadn't felt remarkable while it was happening. But it was still a kiss on the lips. Mello had felt so healed on that day, made whole by Matt's presence. How could that be wrong?

He consulted the bible one more time. The words still hadn't changed. Mello shook his head. He couldn't believe that God truly didn't want them to be best friends. He couldn't accept it. It had never felt wrong, not once. "I don't…I don't care!" Momentarily enraged, he slammed his bible shut and threw it across the room. It impacted the far wall and dropped to the floor.

Mello squeaked in panic when he realized what he'd done. He ran to it and picked it up, cradled it tightly against his chest. "I'm sorry!" He crossed himself a dozen times and carefully inspected the book to make sure he had done no lasting damage. He laid it carefully on the floor and rested his hands on it. "But I still don't care," he hissed defiantly. "Matt's my best friend."

And so Mello went to Matt's bedroom the next afternoon. Matt was glad to see him, hugged him. The two of them sat down side by side on the edge of the bed, blanketed by a cover of awkwardness after the weeks of very little contact.

"I…missed you, Matty," said Mello eventually.

"Missed you too," agreed Matt. "But I wasn't the one avoiding you."

Resentment and questioning confusion were both apparent in his tone. Mello hunched his shoulders and kicked his feet back and forth. "I have to beat Near," he mumbled, feeling guilty for making an excuse but not willing to admit the truth. "You know I do."

Matt narrowed his eyes suspiciously for a moment, then relented with a sigh. "Yeah, I know. I just wish it didn't take so much time, is all."

"Me too," Mello agreed. He hugged himself diffidently. "Matt…" His friend raised his eyebrows questioningly when he trailed off. He hesitated for another moment, then made up his mind. He would take the plunge. "You kissed me on the lips, that one time."

Matt's eyes widened guiltily, like he had been caught raiding the kitchen after hours for snacks. He flushed. "I—I'm sorry, I know I—"

"I want you to do it again." Mello's throat tightened the instant the words had left his lips.

Matt froze, then reddened further. "Um…"

The damage was already done, Mello realized. He was committed to this path. "Now, when I don't feel terrible like I did then," he said. "I…I want to know…" _whether it's really a sin,_ he finished silently. If it was, he would know it right away. God would guide him.

Matt stared, his eyes searching Mello's face to see if he was serious. "But we're both guys," he reminded him uncertainly. It was on those grounds that they had never kissed in the past. Even without the bible, they both knew that boys were only supposed to kiss girls.

But now Mello knew that touching each other was in the same category as kissing, and if he was going to be a sinner, he might as well go all the way. "I know," he said determinedly. "I want you to do it anyway."

Matt swallowed audibly, then nodded. "Okay." He scooted closer to Mello and leaned in slowly. He paused when his face was a few inches away from Mello's and a quick nervous giggle escaped his lips. Mello felt it too, the incredible awkwardness of this moment. He let his eyes flick away from Matt's, then closed them entirely to make things easier. An instant later, he felt Matt's breath play across his lips. There was one more second of hesitation in which it took all of Mello's self-control not to scream with nervousness.

Then Matt's lips settled against his. They were soft, just as soft as they looked, and warm. Mello's heart was pounding like crazy, and it was all he could do to keep his breathing even. But there was no crash of thunder, no smiting fist of God reaching down from the Heavens to deliver divine retribution. There was just Matt, kissing him.

Mello pulled back just enough to end the kiss, but neither of them moved beyond that. Their breath mingled so that the air Matt exhaled was what Mello breathed in. It felt like they were directly connected, a part of one another. It was wonderful. The relief that coursed through Mello turned his stomach into a flock of butterflies that kept dropping out of him in a way that made him think he might melt. He closed the space between them for another kiss.

Matt's lips moved against his a little bit and it tickled. He liked how it felt. They pressed their lips together a little bit more firmly. Mello figured out that he could part his lips just a tiny bit and mold them around Matt's upper lip and they fit perfectly; or it could be the other way, with that little dip between Matt's lips fitting around his. Mello brought one hand to Matt's cheek to hold him still so he could kiss him from a different angle without their noses getting in the way. He got a tiny bit of wetness from between Matt's lips this time. One of Matt's hands came up to the small of his back and rubbed lightly. He couldn't keep his breathing even anymore, but it was okay because neither could Matt.

Mello decided that he wanted more. He knew how it was supposed to be done, at least in theory. He touched his tongue to Matt's lips.

Matt jerked back and stared at him with wide eyes. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"That's how we're supposed to do it," said Mello. "We're supposed to use our tongues."

"What?" Matt stared at him in astonishment. "What makes you say that?"

"I saw it on tv," said Mello smugly. He was feeling quite superior for having figured that out when Matt hadn't.

"When did you find time to watch tv?" Matt demanded.

"It was this one time in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep, and you wouldn't wake up. So I snuck into the teachers' lounge—" He shook his head. "It's not important! Do you want to?"

Matt stared at him skeptically. "But isn't it…kind of gross? I mean, it sounds disgusting."

"I dunno!" exclaimed Mello, frustrated. "I just know that that's how you kiss for real." He took in Matt's nonplussed expression and sighed. He didn't want to pick a fight right now. "Okay fine! We don't have to if you don't want to."

"Okay." Matt smiled shyly. "But can I kiss you more the normal way?"

Mello nodded eagerly and leaned forward. They kissed again, their lips sliding against one another, making Mello giggle at the sensation. Matt was more stoic, but then, he wasn't ticklish. Mello decided to test just how willing Matt was and parted his lips slightly. Matt cautiously followed his lead, and they kissed with partially open lips. It was wet. Then Matt opened his mouth a little bit wider. Delighted, Mello dipped his tongue inside. Matt went rigid for a moment, but then he relaxed again. Mello's tongue encountered his teeth and he pushed against them insistently. Matt caught on and parted them, and a moment later he met Mello's tongue with his.

Then their tongues were moving together, exploring each other, playing with each other. Mello was out of his depth here, but it didn't matter. He let his mouth guide him, doing what felt good. It was so wonderful that they kept kissing until they were forced to break apart and breathe or else pass out.

Mello pulled back enough that he could see Matt's face. He was trembling from head to toe and panting. "Matty!" he exclaimed, unable to find words more articulate. He decided that kissing was a much more enjoyable occupation for his mouth than eating chocolate. Chocolate didn't lick back.

Matt was flushed, but not with embarrassment this time. He was also trying to catch his breath. He grinned a grin of amazement. "Not gross," he said. Then he pulled Mello in to repeat it.

The second time was no less incredible. Mello figured out how to breathe a little bit while it was happening, so it went on longer. He didn't end it until he couldn't help but whimper from how good it felt. But the instant his lips left Matt's, he wanted more. Matt was panting as well, so he pressed his lips against his ear and whispered, "Better than chocolate."

"Ah!" Matt stiffened against him. "That felt really…ticklish," he said, the surprise evident in his tone. "Do it again?"

Mello laughed. He was more than happy to oblige. He breathed against Matt's ear a few more times, stuck his tongue out and kissed its contours the same way he had been playing with Matt's tongue a few minutes earlier. To his delight, it made Matt pant almost as much as he did when Mello touched his dick. Mello slipped his hand under his friend's shirt, and he arched in response. Mello liked that. He ran his fingers up his spine and felt him tremble, mold his body against Mello's.

There was no stopping now. Mello _needed,_ and he felt the same answering need coming from Matt. They kept kissing, and they gradually figured out that there were all sorts of places other than the lips that felt really good to get kissed. Mello immediately fell in love with the feeling of Matt's lips on his neck. They ended up horizontal and that turned out to be even better, with Matt's weight pressing firmly down on him. They were both sweating now, and Matt's skin started to taste like salt.

Mello couldn't get enough. He was lost in it, in Matt's lips and fingers and hot, panting breaths. His dick had gotten hard and so had Matt's, he could feel it through their clothing. These things were meant to go together, he was certain of it; the amazing feeling of his dick spurting and the different but still amazing feeling of Matt's lips against his. He wanted to feel them both at the same time. It would be mind-blowing, he just knew it. He felt a surge of triumph as he realized that he had cracked another part of the code. His dick was so stiff that his underwear had become a sticky mess even though it hadn't spurted. His hips jerked against Matt's, making the redhead pant. He had Matt's shirt pushed up to his neck so he could touch any part of his body he wanted, but neither of them was willing to break their kissing in order to undress further.

A loud pounding on the door interrupted them. They froze guiltily, eyes wide with fear. They were both stricken with the exact same fear—the adults could spy! This could be Roger, here to stop them from doing what two boys weren't supposed to do together! But they relaxed when it was only Temper's voice that they heard.

"Hey, are you in there? Mello?" She knocked again insistently.

Mello took a deep breath and prayed that his voice came out steady. "Yeah, I'm here," he said shortly.

"And is Matt in there with you?" she called out.

Mello growled deep in his throat. "Why does that matter?" he snapped. Then Matt pulled his face back down for another kiss, and he softened.

"Well, you guys are late!" exclaimed Temper. "Mr. Ruvie sent me to get you! So if Matt's not in there, I have to go find him!"

Matt's eyes widened. They broke apart and both of their heads swiveled in unison to the clock on the bedside table. 5:04.

"Shit!" exclaimed Matt softly.

Mello was amazed. He hadn't even noticed the passage of time. Matt was still trying to catch his breath, so he decided to speak for him. "Yeah, he's in here."

"Well come _out_," ordered Temper exasperatedly. "Everyone's waiting on you! What are you doing, anyway? This is so irresponsible of you!"

Matt was shaking his head, eyes pressed tightly closed, his mouth silently forming the word "no." Mello couldn't imagine interrupting this right now, either. He pressed his hips into Matt's and his friend's whole body jerked in response. He rested his nose against Matt's cheek so that their lips nearly touched and their panting breaths mingled, and tried to wrap his mind around the idea of tearing himself away and going to class. He couldn't.

"You guys, come on!" insisted Temper.

Mello growled in frustration. They couldn't just skip Roger's seminar. There was no way they'd get away with it. They _had_ to go. He dragged his face away from Matt's and answered Temper. "We're coming, we'll be there in a minute!" He disentangled his body from Matt's, every moment an excruciating disappointment, and sat up.

Matt had finally caught his breath. He looked down at himself. "I can't go like this," he hissed. "What am I supposed to do?"

Mello looked him over critically. He was flushed, drenched in sweat, his hair in complete disarray, and of course there was the matter of his obvious erection. Mello bit his lip and darted one hand out to squeeze it, he couldn't resist. Matt squirmed out of his grip and sat up with a glare.

Mello sobered. Matt was right, he couldn't go to class like that, and Mello knew he was hardly doing any better himself. There wasn't time to finish touching each other, so they would just have to deal with their erections, but there was no way he was sitting through class with his crotch all sticky and wet like it was. He would have to change. "I have clothes you can wear," he whispered.

Matt groaned, but nodded his acknowledgement that this was the best plan. Temper was already knocking at the door again as they jumped up and stripped. Mello dug two outfits out of his dresser and threw one at Matt, and they both got dressed as fast as they could. Mello stopped Matt at the door in order to give his hair a quick brush with his fingers, succeeding in getting it to lie relatively flat again. Then he turned around and grasped the doorknob. Matt was right behind him. He reached back and groped his crotch as he turned the knob, and heard his friend gasp, a sound that was quickly swallowed as the door swung back to reveal Temper.

"Geeze you guys, took you long enough," she chided as they started down the hallway. Her eyes flicked over Matt curiously. "No stripes today," she commented in surprise. Then she did a double take. "Are you…wearing Mello's clothes?"

Matt's eyes flicked to Mello's nervously, then back to Temper. There was a long, pregnant pause. "Maybe," he said at last.

Mello snorted with laughter at that answer. His unsociable friend couldn't think of a better response on the fly. Temper looked at him, then back at Matt in confusion. "Why?" she asked.

Mello considered stepping in and sparing his friend, but decided that letting him handle it offered far more entertainment value. Matt swallowed and remained silent for a lengthy awkward moment. Then, finally, he replied, "Why not?" He glanced at Mello, looking for his friend's approval of his answers. There was a slight smile on his lips, and Mello grinned back. He loved seeing how much trouble Matt had talking to other people, and knowing that he had no trouble talking to him. Matt was his, only his. He wanted to jump on him right here in the middle of the hallway, and was sorely tempted to do so despite Temper's presence. He couldn't put the memory of Matt's lips against his out of his mind, nor the way his panting breaths sounded when Mello kissed his ear, nor the taste of his sweat—it was doing nothing to help his erection go away.

Temper looked back and forth between them one more time, then shook her head in exasperation. "You guys are _so weird._"

Mello could only glance at Matt and giggle as they headed to class.


	18. Chapter 18

"Wow, Near, you sure are good!" Jury's voice was pitched to carry throughout the room. "Nobody else in this entire orphanage could solve that problem. No wonder you're number one!"

On the far side of the room, at a different table, Mello slowly stood up. Jury had been a thorn in his side ever since he had cracked his rib and nearly broken his rosary. He hadn't retaliated yet, because he hadn't yet dreamed up a punishment commensurate with the crime. Just beating him up again wouldn't be sufficient, not even if it left him a bloody pulp. It needed to be something elegant, cruel and creative. But while he worked on inventing that, Jury acted like he could get away with anything. This was a direct challenge. Mello couldn't—and wouldn't—let it pass.

He crossed the room with slow, dangerous deliberateness. "_I_ solved that problem, asshole," he said. "I solved it _yesterday._ Near and I are _tied. _To say otherwise is garbage. If you keep on lying like that, I may have to fight you again." He let his lips stretch into a lopsided smirk. "One on one, that is. Do you remember how our last fair fight turned out?"

"Mello injured Jury and he needed stitches." Near spoke without looking up from the figurines he was arranging on the table. Mello and Jury both whirled to stare at him in consternation. There was no telling whether he was deliberately interrupting a brewing argument or whether he simply couldn't tell that the question hadn't been directed at him. Jury blanched and glared; he didn't appreciate that reminder. Oblivious, Near continued. "Mello should not threaten Jury with physical injury for speaking the truth. It is illogical and childish. Only a loser would behave like that."

Mello froze. The words seemed to suck the breath right out of him, leaving his throat painfully constricted. The sheer condescending arrogance with which Near spoke to him never ceased to catch him off guard. For a split second he was at a loss for words while his mind floundered over which part of that statement to tear into first. Then he slammed his fists onto the table as white-hot rage crackled through him. "Childish? _You're _calling _me _childish? While you sit there and play with a fucking—" Words were no longer sufficient to convey his anger. He leaned across the table and smacked the action figure out of Near's grip. It hit the tile with a crack, and its arm broke off and flew across the room. Near hunched in on himself and began twirling his hair around his finger. "And it's not the truth!" shouted Mello defiantly. "We're tied and you know it!"

"No," said Near impassively. His voice was so deadpan, his statement so final, that it made Mello want to scream. In Near's mind, there wasn't even a shadow of a doubt that he was speaking the objective truth. "Mello is not my intellectual equal." His tone shaded into disapproval. "Mello behaves according to his emotions rather than according to logic. Mello is doing so right now, by denying reality and expressing anger towards someone who acknowledges the truth. Mello also holds irrational beliefs that are not supported by observable evidence. Mello believes in God."

Those words hit Mello like a truck. He felt momentarily light-headed as a wave of surreal disbelief washed over him. Near said many nasty things to him, but for him to attack _that_, of all things_—_how could he? How _could _he? Mello felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He was hot all over, and he couldn't catch his breath. Despite everything that had passed between them, he had thought that Near had some fundamental level of respect for him. This proved that to be a foolish illusion.

Near was still talking. "Such behavior—"

"Shut up!" screamed Mello. "You shut up!"

"—renders Mello—"

"I said shut up!" Mello couldn't bear to hear another word of this. He dashed around the table and silenced Near by the first method that came to his mind, which was to roughly cover his mouth with one hand. His momentum shoved Near's head backwards painfully. The younger boy twisted out of his grip awkwardly, and managed to fall out of the chair and tip it over on himself in one ungainly motion. Mello was disgusted by the sight of Near's clumsiness, then enraged when the tumbling chair's leg cracked into his shin with enough force to bruise. "Fuck!" Mello kicked the chair viciously and Near cried out as it slammed into his body. Mello ignored him and kicked it even harder so that it flew off of Near and clattered across the floor beyond him.

"Ow! Ow!" Near curled up on the tiles, his hands flailing out to the sides helplessly. "That hurts!"

"Ugh, look at you! You can't even get up! You—" Mello shook his head in helpless rage, unable to express the depth of his loathing for Near. It was so _unfair _that this feeble, worthless incompetent weakling who couldn't even right himself when knocked over was considered better than him. "Get up! Get _up!_" He grabbed Near's arm and hauled him bodily off the floor.

"Ow!" said Near again. There were tears glistening in his eyes. "Mello's grip is tight—my arm—"

"Shut the hell _up!_ Just stand! Fucking stand under your own power you useless shit!" Near's feet were scrabbling for purchase on the floor. Mello tried to let go of his arm, but it became immediately obvious that Near would just fall over again. "God! I can't believe how inept you are! How are you going to be a detective if you can't even walk around right? Huh?" He emphasized his point by shaking Near's shoulders violently with every word. "How are you ever going to accomplish anything in the real world? Do you think L sits around building piles of dice while other people do all of the hard work for him? Huh? Do you?"

Near shook his head jerkily from side to side, his eyes fixed on the floor. "Mello is being very loud and bright! It is painful!"

"I'm not being _bright!_" shouted Mello in infuriation. "What the hell does that even _mean?_ Freak!"

Then a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision momentarily distracted Mello from his tirade. He abruptly became aware of his surroundings again. Everyone in the room was hunched over their tables or cowering against the walls, staring at him fearfully. What had caught his attention was just Temper ducking behind a chair. But as he took stock of the room, he realized in dismay that Jury was nowhere to be seen.

He snorted. The older boy had gone to fetch Roger, no doubt, snitching to the adults like the coward he was. The staff would be flooding this room any minute.

"Come on!" Mello forced Near's feet onto the ground by standing atop them until the pale boy regained some semblance of balance. Without relinquishing his grip on Near's upper arm, Mello stormed across the room and down the hall. Near stumbled and staggered, but Mello's unrelenting progress forced him to either stay on his feet or be dragged along on the floor. He marched them up the stairs, practically dragging the younger boy along as deadweight during the ascent. Near begged pathetically to be released, which only added to Mello's revulsion. "You can't even climb stairs! That shouldn't be difficult! You as L's successor—what a joke!"

When they reached the third floor, Mello could hear approaching footsteps echoing down the hallway. He ducked into the nearest spare bedroom, dragging Near along behind him, and locked the door.

Pounding on it came almost immediately. It was accompanied by shouts demanding that he open up. He barricaded the door by shoving the dresser in front of it, and reinforced it through the old stand-by of shoving a chair under the knob.

Then he turned to Near. His lip curled at the sight of the white-haired boy huddling in a fetal position in the corner, crying. Fury still danced in his veins, setting him ablaze. He snatched the room's biggest lamp and used its heavy metal base to shatter the window. He spared a few seconds to knock the remaining glass from the frame, knowing, as he did, how much damage it could do, but the process was far from complete when his patience ran out. He cut himself a little bit when he climbed through, but it was nothing compared to the deep gashes that Near took when Mello hauled him bodily through afterwards. The younger boy shrieked in pain as the glass shards raked his skin, and blood started to seep through his white pajamas almost immediately. Mello laughed. It served him right. It was so fitting that the all-white boy be soiled and stained with his own blood, unmistakable proof for all to see of his weakness.

They were outside on the fire escape now. As Mello dragged Near up the rickety staircase to the roof, he became peripherally aware of a crowd gathering down below. Fingers were pointed, voices were raised; they had an audience.

There was a gate that blocked access to the roof, but its bars were far enough apart that Mello could slip through it easily. He tried to pull Near through after him, but the younger boy balked and spread his extremities out rather than compressing himself. His head and torso caught on opposite sides of the opening, and he halted. Impatience and irritation coursed through Mello, exacerbating his fury to an unbearable level. He jerked on Near's arm with all of his strength, one, two, three times before he realized that all he was accomplishing was to slam Near's face and body into the metal bars full-force. Near was screaming and his nose was starting to bleed, but he was no closer to crossing the gate. With a curse, Mello took hold of his hair and shoulders and maneuvered him through more carefully.

Near popped through the gateway and sprawled across the ground. Mello looked him over critically. The arm he had been hauling on hung at an unnatural angle, an indication of a dislocated shoulder. He was bleeding in half a dozen places, and his face was blotchy and red. He struggled feebly to curl up around his injuries.

He was also sobbing helplessly, his eyes streaming tears in droves. "It hurts! I am in pain! It hurts!" His breath was hitching so badly that it rendered his words nearly unintelligible. "Why? Why is Mello doing this? Mello is my only friend and now Mello is hurting me! Mello, why?" His voice was anguished, a tone that Mello had never heard from him before. "Why does Mello hate me?"

The display made Mello want to kick him. He rested his hands on his hips and pinned Near with a gaze full of wrath. "Look at you," he sneered. "And you really think you can compete with me? You go as far as mocking God himself, but let's see how you stack up when it's just you and me! Do you think you can beat me?"

"Please stop," sobbed Near. "Please do not hurt me anymore!"

Mello scoffed. "Shut up." He nudged Near's dislocated shoulder with his foot to get his point across and was rewarded with a scream. "I'm better than you, Near! I have _God _on my side. What do you have, huh? One more point than me on a physics exam? Well whoop-de-fucking-doo! I'll show you what God can do!" He grabbed Near by his intact arm hauled him up. He was like a rag doll, limp and helpless and weighing next to nothing. Mello walked backwards with slow deliberation, one measured step at a time. "Let's have a competition, you and I," he purred. "A _real_ competition, not an exam about some stupid shit we'll never use in the future anyway. Right here and now. What do you say?" They reached the edge of the roof, and Mello stopped. "We'll jump, the two of us. We'll take an action that's real. And the one who survives is the one who wins."

Near sobbed even louder. "Do not do that! It is very likely that we would sustain severe injuries or even death upon falling from this height! Mello is acting like a person who is not sane!"

Mello laughed uproariously and held Near out over the edge, suspended above nothing. The boy writhed in his grip and started shrieking. "What is it?" demanded Mello mockingly, his lips curving into a cold smile. "Not so sure you can beat me in a direct challenge?"

"This is not a challenge!" shouted Near. "At best it is a gamble based on luck! No skill is involved! Only coincidental factors would determine whether Near or Mello survives!"

"That's what you think, huh?" sneered Mello. He shook his head, then laughed again. "You don't get it at all!" God was with him. He could _feel _His presence even more strongly than the midday sun on his skin, surrounding him, filling him. He was bathed in divine radiance, glowing with it. And he knew, with glorious certainty, that right now he was indestructible. He could plummet from this roof, or even from a building ten stories taller, and land on the ground unscathed.

Near would never in his life experience this. There wasn't enough room in that puny body or that cold, emotionless mind for a feeling this big.

He drew Near closer in order to murmur smugly into his ear. "I knowI'm going to walk out of this alive, because God is with me. You can't say the same, and that's why you're scared."

Near whimpered. "Please do not throw me off the roof. Please to not jump off the roof. Mello is very frightening today! Mello is behaving like a crazy person!"

Mello smirked and pulled the other boy back from the edge. "Don't worry," he said condescendingly. "I'm not going to make you jump. Whether or not you have the guts to face me is up to you." He dropped Near in something resembling a sitting position and stepped back once more.

"Stop, Mello! Stop!" Near's slate-gray eyes fixed on Mello, for once desperately seeking his gaze rather than avoiding it. "Please do not jump off of the roof! You could die! I do not want you to die!" The fingers of his uninjured arm were twisting his hair so tightly that locks were being pulled out. "If you die, I will be sad! I do not want you to die!"

Mello reached the edge of the roof and stood on the balls of his feet, his heels hanging over nothing. He bounced up and down slowly, distantly registering a collective gasp from the onlookers below. He stared straight into Near's eyes as he drew his rosary from his pocket and hung it around his neck instead. He smiled slightly. "This is the true test to determine which of us is worthy to succeed L," he said softly. "And you're too much of a coward to even enter the challenge."

Near just shook his head furiously, shuddering with uncontrollable sobs.

Mello crossed himself, then held his rosary firmly within his fist. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." His lip curled, transforming his smile into a lopsided half-smirk. "I'm ready."

"Please do not!" screamed Near.

Mello's tone was mocking. "I'll see you at the bottom."

He stepped backwards.


	19. Chapter 19

Three stories below, standing amongst the crowd of onlookers, Matt burst out laughing. Roger couldn't tear his eyes away from Mello's deadly plunge to look at him, but the joyous peal, so incongruous with the scene before them, chilled him to the bone.

Mello's fall seemed to last for ages. The image of blonde tresses fluttering in the wind, catching the sunlight like prisms, imprinted itself onto his mind's eye forever.

Then it was over. Mello reached the ground. His body disappeared through the top of a bush and for a heart-stopping moment was completely hidden. Then he came somersaulting out the side and rolled halfway down the small incline in front of the House. His limbs uncurled and flopped outwards, and he came to a halt flat on his back in the grass.

The world should have been a frozen, silent tableau. No one should have dared so much as breathe for fear of what the next few seconds would bring. But Matt shattered that reality completely by bolting forward, still laughing. His movements and sounds screeched across Roger's raw nerves like metal on metal. He experienced a stab of extreme revulsion towards the redhead.

The crowd of onlookers began to unfreeze, galvanized by Matt's actions. Students and staff surged forward as one. Part of Roger's mind flickered to practical matters, and a moment of panic touched him. The last thing Mello needed was a mob of gawkers blocking help from reaching him.

Then something amazing happened. Impossible and amazing. Mello unfolded from the ground and stood up.

The approaching horde wavered uncertainly, then lost cohesion and transformed back into a collection of individuals who were milling nervously. Roger was frozen in his tracks.

The only one immune to the shock of what they had just witnessed was Matt, who dashed straight into the clear space surrounding Mello. He halted about two meters away, his eyes fixed raptly on his friend.

Mello's lips curved into a dangerous smirk and he drew himself up to his full height. He was completely relaxed, save for the hand that clasped his rosary, but it was with the ease of a predator who might decide to pounce and snap a hapless victim's neck at any moment. He dripped power. His gaze raked the crowd, and where it landed, students and staff alike averted their eyes and fell back. There were gasps and whispers; sentiments of shock, awe, and fear. Even Roger shivered when Mello's eyes locked on his and he saw what they held. There was something burning there, and it was not quite sanity.

Then Mello's eyes alighted on Matt's, and his expression turned more sly. Something indefinable passed between them, something that Roger couldn't even begin to understand.

Mello strode forward, head held high. There was not even a trace of a limp in his gait. The onlookers parted quickly, scrambling to stay out of his way. Matt fell into step behind him, and the two of them marched wordlessly across the grounds. The watchers turned as one and followed their progress to the front door.

Only when they had vanished inside of the building was the spell broken. Roger blinked eyes that had gone dry and glanced around at the others who had just witnessed that scene alongside him, at a complete loss as to how he should react. He saw many of them doing the same, shaking their heads in mute bewilderment and looking to each other for cues.

A commotion from above their heads brought Roger back to reality. His eyes widened in fear. Near was still there! His gaze snapped upwards, trying futilely to catch a glimpse of what was occurring on the roof. He could hear shouts.

With a curse that he would later feel guilty for uttering in front of the students, Roger turned and ran to the House proper as fast as his legs would carry him.

* * *

Matt followed Mello through the doorway to Wammy's House. His eyes were glued to his best friend, drinking in the beauty of his every movement and mannerism. He was grinning so widely that it hurt his face, but he was powerless to stop. It took all of his self-discipline not to giggle uncontrollably. Mello had finally shown the world what he could do! Matt had seen it many times, of course, but Mello had never made such a public spectacle of it before. The fear and incomprehension on the faces of the other students when he stood atop the roof was just too funny. They couldn't understand that he wasn't in any real danger.

But they understood now. They had caught a glimpse of what Matt saw all the time: Mello's power, Mello's beauty, Mello's strength. Not even gravity could defeat him; the very laws of the universe bent to Mello's will. No one else in the House could make that claim, maybe no one else in the _world._ Mello was singular.

Matt's stomach was fluttering as he trailed behind Mello, his breathing uneven. His whole body was trembling with…something. He felt lit up, alive from head to toe. He wanted to touch Mello, to feel just a tiny bit of that power crackle through his fingertips like electricity, but now he could see just how far above him Mello truly was. He wasn't worthy to touch something of such exquisite perfection. He was incredibly lucky that he had been allowed to get away with it up until now.

Mello led him purposefully through the hallways of the House. Matt had no idea where they were going, but that was all right. He didn't question. He just followed.

It took several more minutes before it became apparent that their destination was Roger's office. Matt understood right away. Roger had been getting on Mello's case over his conduct quite a bit lately; Mello clearly intended to put an end to that once and for all.

When they reached it, Mello threw the door open and strode inside like he had every right to be there. It was enough to start Matt giggling again. No one else would ever dare do this.

Mello crossed the room and hopped up onto Roger's desk. Matt halted in front of him and stared hungrily up into Mello's commanding gaze. "M—Mello," he finally managed to breathe. "That was amazing!" His hands came up and approached the blonde almost of their own accord, but he stopped them before they touched. "Can I…?"

"No." Mello's flashing eyes sent the full force of his personality thundering over Matt, rendering that single word an absolute command. Matt jerked his hands back to his sides immediately; it was impossible to do otherwise.

Mello held his gaze. Matt's breath caught, then stopped entirely. He could feel Mello's power like a physical thing, washing over him and through him, drowning out his senses and pushing all else aside until it filled him completely. He was overwhelmed, torn to pieces, obliterated, burned to nothing in Mello's cleansing flame; and then reborn, purified. He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't make his weak knees support his weight. He was gong to lose his balance.

Then Mello's hand moved like lightning to snatch a fistful of his hair and drag him forward roughly. Matt was whimpering with need even before Mello's lips met his. The kiss was forceful, Mello's mouth smashing against his nearly hard enough to bruise. Matt lost his balance and toppled over. His stomach landed painfully on the edge of the desk, but he had been told not to touch, so he kept his arms at his sides. Only Mello's hand in his hair kept him from sliding to the floor.

It ended too soon. Matt was left panting and trembling against Mello's body. The blonde slipped his hand down to the small of his back, his eyes holding Matt's like glue. "You can touch now," he offered magnanimously. Gratefully, Matt wrapped his arms around Mello's waist and clung to his friend.

It took some time before he was able to recover himself enough to speak. "Mello…" He peered upwards raptly. "Are you an angel?"

Mello cocked his head at him in surprise. "What are you talking about, Matty? Since when do you believe in angels?"

Matt dared to press slightly closer to him. "Since I realized you must be one," he said softly.

Mello lifted one hand to caress his cheek, and Matt's eyes fluttered halfway shut in pleasure. His lips curved into a gentle smile. "Matty," he said. "That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me." He kissed Matt's forehead, sending another cascade of shivers through him. "But I'm just Mello," he said firmly. "This is what I am. This."

The sound of approaching footsteps reminded Matt that the outside world still existed. It had to be Roger—no one else would enter this office uninvited. Matt had no sense of how much time had passed, but this meant that it must have been enough for the old man to finish dealing with the aftermath of what had happened. For the first time, it occurred to Matt to wonder what had become of Near. Details of the events on the roof hadn't been visible from the ground, but Matt could draw some conclusions. Near couldn't have fared well in a direct confrontation with Mello. The thought of the two of them fighting…a chill raced down his spine. Could Near actually be dead…?

The footsteps were just outside the door now. Matt started to stand, but quickly realized that he was still so shaky he would fall as soon as Mello let go of him. But Mello didn't; he took hold of Matt's shoulders and spun him so that he faced the doorway, but then pulled him back to lean against the desk between his legs. A hand in his hair informed Matt that that was where he should remain, so he stilled.

The door clicked open to reveal Roger. He stopped in the entrance, one hand still resting on the doorknob, and locked eyes with Mello. There was a long, charged silence.

Roger looked away first. His eyes flicked to Matt, then to his desk, then back to Mello. "Are you injured?" he asked without preamble.

"No," replied Mello smugly. Matt didn't need to see his face to picture with perfect clarity the smirk stretching across his features right now.

"You need to come to the infirmary for an exam. I'll continue talking to you there."

"No," said Mello again.

Roger's eyebrows drew together in consternation. "Yes," he said. "You just _fell three stories, _Mello. You need to see Mrs. Drewett."

"No."

"Mello—"

"I said no!"

Roger opened his mouth, then paused. Matt grinned as he watched the man debate internally, arrive at the conclusion that this was a losing battle and change directions. "Get down from my desk."

"No!" Mello laughed gaily; he was enjoying this.

"Yes. Sit on a chair, like everyone else."

"Nope. I'm not going to, and you can't make me."

Roger hesitated. Matt knew what was going through the old man's mind. He didn't want to let Mello get away with flouting his authority this blatantly, but he also saw that continuing to argue would only give Mello more chances to rebel. It was also quite evident that the only way to make Mello comply would be to cross the room and physically remove him from the desk.

Roger changed tacks again. "Do you know what's become of Near?" he inquired icily.

"He's crying like a baby on the roof?" suggested Mello flippantly.

"He's on his way to this hospital," corrected Roger coldly. Mello froze, and the way his hand tightened in Matt's hair told him that he hadn't expected that. "He was having a seizure by the time the staff reached the roof. He also has a dislocated shoulder, multiple cuts that are going to need stitches and several potential broken bones. Our infirmary here isn't equipped to handle such serious injuries."

Mello laughed maliciously. He had either recovered from his surprise, or was doing a very good job of pretending that he had. "I guess that's what happens when you lose."

Roger's eyes sparked with anger and he strode several steps into the room. "That didn't just "happen," Mello. _You _did that to him! You!" He held up a clump of something white and red, and it took Matt a moment to realize that it was a tuft of Near's hair, tangled and bloody. "Do you see that?"

Once again, that tightening of fingers in his hair. "I didn't do that," said Mello blankly.

"No," agreed Roger. "This is the hair that Near pulled out of his own head when his seizure began."

Matt couldn't tear his eyes away from the grotesque sight. There was actually still some skin sticking to it, giving it shape. He shuddered.

Mello was unfazed. "Serves him right."

"There are going to be consequences for this, Mello!" Roger's eyes churned with fury. "_Real _consequences. L will hear of this."

"Good," said Mello smugly. "Then he'll know that I won and Near can't stand against me."

Roger stared, disbelief written all over his face. "What are you…" He shook his head. "You can't seriously expect to commit that kind of violence against one of your peers and get away with it. Things are going to change around here."

"Sure they are," agreed Mello easily. "Just not the way you think." He laughed. "For instance, you're not going to punish me ever again."

"Mello, that's ludicrous."

"No, that's the truth. I'm just telling you how it's going to be, _Roger_."

Matt froze. There was just enough emphasis placed on the name to make it clear that Mello had used it deliberately. Matt watched the shock bloom across Roger's face, then be replaced by stony neutrality. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. The tension could have been cut with a knife.

"That's Mr. Ruvie to you," Roger corrected softly.

"Not unless you call me Mr. Mello!" Mello's loud outburst made a jangling contrast to Roger's tight control. "I'm smarter than you and I'm L's Successor, plus I'm practically fourteen now!"

"…Mr. Mello?" repeated Roger, his face registering blank astonishment.

"Yes, you know?" Mello spoke with exaggerated slowness, like he was speaking to an idiot. "Mello-sama. Herr Mello. Monsieur Mello. Otherwise, I'm calling you Roger."

Roger drew himself up. "I am the principal of this institution," he began. "So long as you attend this school, you will addr—"

Matt burst out laughing, interrupting Roger mid-admonition. He felt a little bit bad, especially when Roger broke off and stared at him in consternation, but he couldn't help it. The idea that being in charge of Wammy's House would give Roger the power to control Mello was just too funny. Roger didn't do anything more impressive than lecturing a student every once in awhile—he would have to be _defying gravity _before he could hope to tangle with Mello.

The hand in Matt's hair petted his head appreciatively. "See, Matt understands," said Mello. "Tell him, Matt."

Obediently, Matt spoke. "You can't beat Mello," he said simply.

"Roger!" exclaimed Mello, his tone sing-song. "Roger, Roger Roger!" He laughed.

Roger's shoulders slumped wearily in defeat. He heaved a sigh and briefly closed his eyes, and Matt was suddenly struck by how _old _he looked. Old and tired. Matt wondered idly what it felt like to be that age and get bossed around by a thirteen-year-old.

"Mello," he began. "Would you please get down from that desk and go visit Mrs. Drewett in the nurse's office? Think about it from my perspective. You just sent a peer to the hospital and jumped off a third story roof. I can't let you go back to your school day as if nothing has happened. You need to at least visit the nurse and the counselor."

"Hmm…"

"Please be reasonable." Roger's tone was far more pleading than he probably intended it to be.

"Okay." Mello pushed Matt away from the desk and jumped down himself. "Since you asked so nicely, I'll go."

"Thank you." Now that Mello was no longer sitting on his desk, he crossed the room to take his seat behind it. "Matt, I would like to speak with you."

"No!" exclaimed Mello, grabbing Matt's wrist. "He's coming with me."

"I'm going with him," Matt told Roger. He tried to look apologetic, but it probably didn't work very well since he couldn't stop grinning. Then Mello tugged on his arm, and he was more than happy to follow his best friend out of the room.


	20. Chapter 20

Near awoke slowly. The first thing that registered was pain, distant and muted. He tried to move, but his body seemed to be restricted. He opened his eyes and saw a darkened room with muted light leaking around a floor-length curtain. There were rhythmic beeping sounds. He didn't know where he was and couldn't remember how he had gotten here. His thoughts felt sluggish and fuzzy.

Disconnected fragments of memory whirled through his mind. Mello's face, contorted from its usual shape by overwhelming emotions; his voice, so loud and frightening; his hands so forceful and rough on Near's body. The sky, broken glass, the world spinning. Pain, overwhelming pain. Yes—now it was starting to make sense. He had been injured, and now he was in a hospital being treated. He was hooked up to medical equipment that monitored his health. He had been given medication for the pain, and that was why his mind wasn't functioning properly.

He lay there for some time as he pieced together a coherent picture of what had happened. The final event had been Mello stepping off the edge of the roof. The patterns on his face and body had been so terrifying in that moment that Near shivered just remembering them.

And beyond that, there was nothing. He must have been unconscious. No matter how he wracked his brain, he couldn't summon any knowledge of what had become of Mello. There was a significant probability that he was dead.

Near did not want to consider that. He turned his attention to assessing the state of his own body instead. He tested each of his limbs for movement and found that his right arm was completely immobilized. That was for the better, as even that failed attempt to lift it had been produced a stab of agony more intense than the medication could absorb. The rest of his extremities were functional, if sore. He probed the left side of his body judiciously, and found stitches. The memory of glass tearing through his flesh was very vivid, and he shuddered.

Mello had done that to him. Near didn't understand why. Mello was the only other student at Wammy's House whose thinking was in the same league as his own. He was the only one who could comprehend patterns at the same level that Near could. They used to make a great team when they studied together. No problem had ever defeated their combined mental prowess. They had traded insights regularly, teaching each other new ways to recognize patterns. They had challenged each other over and over, each coaxing the other to take his thinking to a higher level.

It had been very effective. Near's deductive abilities had increased their rate of growth by fifteen percent relative to what it had been before Mello's arrival at Wammy's House.

But now things were very different. Somehow their competition had turned destructive rather than constructive. Mello became very irate when he did not earn the highest marks in the House. His anger was invariably directed at Near, which baffled him. _He_ was not the one who caused Mello to fall short. The ultimate blame for that rested with Mello himself, since it was his own study habits and thinking skills that led to his scores. The logical reaction for him to have would be to learn from his mistakes and work harder in the future, but Mello often wasted valuable time dwelling on his unhappiness rather than studying. It was highly irrational. Mello let himself be ruled by his emotions, and the result was that his deductive skills were not developing as they should. His mind had so much potential, and he was wasting it.

That upset Near greatly. Thinking about it was enough to send his free hand fluttering over the sheets in distress. He wanted a prop very badly, but there were none within his reach. He tried to immobilize the hand in his hair, but found that his head was covered in bandages. His hair was completely inaccessible, to his dismay. With nothing to occupy it, his hand kept on flitting around, out of his control.

Some time passed before he was able to twist his fingers up in the blankets and keep them there. Nearly equally distressing as the knowledge that Mello was squandering his talent was the knowledge that it affected Near's development, too. Without Mello's assistance, his progress had slowed again. The current situation was detrimental to both of them, and Near hated it. He wished that he could reverse time, undo the horrifying events of today and go back to when he and Mello had studied together happily. It was a most impossible desire, but he still felt it.

But the reality was that Mello chose to spend all of his time with _Matt. _This, too, was baffling. Matt was useless. Well, truth be told, that Matt managed to perform acceptably on exams despite the minuscule amount of time he spent studying suggested that he could most likely compete with Near if he so chose. But he did not. He preferred video games that taught him nothing over coursework. Matt had no appreciation for patterns and was actually _bored_ by puzzles, attributes that rendered him a strange and incomprehensible creature to Near. Matt could not synchronize his thoughts with Mello's, and worse, he _actively _distracted him from his school work. Near couldn't understand why Mello would willingly choose Matt's company over his own. It was so illogical, so _unfair. _Why had Mello turned against him? Why did Mello hate him so much that he had caused him grievous bodily injury like this? It hurt. It hurt more than his body; it made him ache with pain on the inside, too.

His hand had freed itself from the blankets again and was flapping around the bed. He wished desperately for his props. He couldn't ever remember wanting one this badly. He wanted his own clothes back, they were comfortable and comforting. He wanted Mello's hair to braid, but given recent events, he doubted he would ever be permitted to touch it again. Mello would probably hit him if he tried. Near did not want to be hit by Mello any more; he was in too much pain as it was. No, he was afraid to be around Mello. He did not want to study with him; he wanted to stay as far away from him as possible.

Then again, he was going through the worst of it now, wasn't he? Mello would not be allowed by Roger or the staff to hurt him so badly a second time. He considered the matter carefully, and decided that it would be worth incurring some injuries from in order to study with him again. Not severe trauma like today; but he could probably handle any individual one of the wounds he currently had, save the dislocated shoulder. That had not only been agonizing beyond words, but it would also leave him without the use of his right arm for some time. The others, however…it wouldn't be pleasant by any means to have a chair kicked into his head or to be dragged up the stairs, but he could tolerate it if it meant that Mello worked with him afterwards.

But all of that might be irrelevant. Mello might very well be dead, in which case Near would never see him again.

That thought brought tears to his eyes, a most unusual sensation. The idea of Wammy's House without Mello was somehow very lonely, even though he was only one of sixty-seven students. A Mello who screamed at him and avoided him was somehow preferable to no Mello at all.

That was a rather surprising conclusion to Near. He explored his feelings on the matter for several minutes and located its source. He had never met anyone other than Mello who could relate to his thoughts, and, illogical though it might be, he could not free himself from the dread certainty that he never would again. If Mello was dead, he would be alone forever.

He curled up as well as he could given his injuries and let the tears leak from his eyes. He very, very badly wished to know where Mello was right now. He could be in bed in the next room, or even on the other side of that curtain—or he could be lying in a morgue somewhere. Near wished desperately that someone would come into the room and he could inquire on the matter, but no one appeared to assist him.

Near closed his eyes morosely and wished for morning to come.


	21. Chapter 21

After that, Mello owned Wammy's House.

When he swaggered through the hallways, the other students stopped to stare. They whispered to each other in hushed voices. "Mello is invincible." "Mello rose from the dead." Their faces were full of awe and reverence, tinged with fear. Matt had always looked at him that way, but now_ everyone _was looking at him that way. Some couldn't meet his gaze, others couldn't look away. He knew they had all seen the truth in that moment when he stood up, rosary in hand, and faced them. They had seen the power of God, the power he possessed that none of them could touch. His only injuries on that day had been a few scrapes and bruises from the broken window and the bush, and a cut on the palm of his hand from gripping his rosary too tightly.

No one got in his way. When he wanted something, his classmates tripped over themselves to get it for him. They competed with one another to curry favor. If he spoke harshly or glared, they cringed in fear. Once, he made Temper cry just by staring her down.

Even the teachers and staff showed deference to him now. Roger actively avoided him. Mello's word was the final one on everything in the House.

Near returned from the hospital after five days. His right arm was in a sling and his head was still bandaged. Mello turned up his nose and ignored him. It would serve no purpose to beat him up a second time, since it would be so laughably easy. The point had been made—he could kill Near in minutes if he wanted to. What he needed to do next was beat him on purely intellectual grounds, according to the rules that L had laid out for them. Only then would he see his enemy fully defeated and humiliated.

With the fight against Near effectively stalemated, Mello's attention turned inexorably to Jury. Suddenly he couldn't remember why it had seemed so important to invent an elaborate revenge against him. Brute force methods would get the job done just find.

That dithering and delaying had come from the old Mello, the _weak_ Mello. Now he didn't hesitate. He tipped Jury's meal trays onto him at lunch, shoved him in the hallways, threw things at him during class. He flooded his bedroom by lighting a match under the sprinkler, set a pile of his schoolwork on fire on the front lawn, had Matt hack his computer and corrupt his files. He contrived to get himself on the opposite team of Jury whenever sports were being played, and started "accidentally" injuring him during the games. He gave him a bloody nose once with a particularly well-aimed kick of the soccer ball.

And, of course, he beat Jury up whenever he could catch him alone. Jury tried to keep himself surrounded by people at all times, but Mello nipped that trend in the bud by threatening some of the kids who hung around him. Kentin and Linda both abandoned their friend with an alacrity that Mello found quite satisfying. One warning was all it took before they were quaking in their boots, afraid to make eye contact or draw his attention in any way. They well knew that they had earned his enmity right alongside Jury on that day, and that they were damned lucky to be escaping punishment. He gave them the opportunity to run trivial errands for him to stay in his good graces, and they leapt at the chance. On several occasions he caught Jury giving one or both of them dirty looks, and he also saw the way they averted their eyes in shame.

It didn't take long before Jury was quite without allies. He started to fray at the seams, looking over his shoulder fearfully and bursting into public tears at the drop of a hat. Mello was thrilled. With him totally cowed, his conquest of the House was virtually complete.

Their battle came to a head during a class change one afternoon. Mello happened to walk by Jury chatting with Daniel at the top of the stairs. Jury was facing away from him, completely oblivious. The opportunity was just too perfect.

Jury screamed like a girl as he tumbled down the stone steps. He came to rest at the bottom in a twisted pile of limbs, whimpering pathetically. Students dashed towards him to help, but stopped short in fear when they saw Mello staring them down from the top of the stairs.

No one moved another inch. They just left Jury there, sobbing and weakly begging for help.

Mrs. Westbrook shattered the tableau by shoving her way through the crowd to Jury's side. "What's going on here? What happened?"

"I guess he tripped and fell," answered Mello with a cold, malicious smile.

Mrs. Westbrook looked at him as she helped Jury sit up, disbelief written all over her features. She turned to Jury. "Did you fall?"

It was very quiet. Mello could just make out the older boy's faint words. "I…tripped."

Mrs. Westbrook turned her attention to the surrounding students. "Did he really fall?" she demanded incredulously.

There were fifteen witnesses. Every single one of them nodded mutely.

Jury had a broken leg. He was at the hospital for three days. When he came back, he had made the decision to graduate early. He left Wammy's House a week later.

It was a complete victory. It _should _have left Mello overjoyed. But his triumph was marred by Near, no matter how much he tried not to let that happen. Near was just as indifferent to him as he had always been. He just played with his toys, looking anywhere that Mello wasn't. It seemed like their rooftop battle hadn't even made an impression on him. The only way Mello could get any reaction at all out of him was to get right up in his face and start screaming; then Near would huddle in on himself fearfully. But he still corrected Mello publicly, still called him a loser and a fool, still accused him of being irrational in front of other students and staff. It was infuriating. Near didn't seem to understand that he had already lost.

To Mello's dismay, neither did a lot of their peers. They toed the line when he was present, but they would start praising Near the moment his back was turned. They still thought that it mattered that Near could beat him by a point or two on exams. They were too stupid to understand what that leap from the roof had been all about.

It was enough to make him scream in frustration. He had won, he _had _won, he knew without a doubt that he was better than Near! But it was starting to seem like the rest of the world might never figure that out. And just knowing it in his mind wasn't enough; he needed _everyone _to know. It felt like the prize was receding farther and farther away from him, picking up speed twice as fast as he could. Sometimes he despaired that there would ever be a time when he was acknowledged by all as Near's superior.


	22. Chapter 22

Matt squinted, absentmindedly chewing at his lip as he concentrated on his game. He was on the verge of beating a boss battle in record time. He was distantly aware that someone was trying to get his attention, but he tuned it out. He was too close to the end of the level to get distracted now.

Then, success! He finished the level, and the victory theme played. He beamed as he saved the game.

When he stopped ignoring the rest of the world, he discovered that Temper was trying to talk to him. She was standing diffidently before him, hands clasped behind her back. Two of her friends were attendant behind her. "Hey, Matt," she said shyly.

He squinted against the bright sunlight. "Hmm?"

"I have something to give you." She grinned nervously.

"Uh…" Matt frowned. "What something?"

Temper flushed. "It's a surprise!"

One of her friends started giggling. Matt wondered what kind of surprise she might have in mind. He glanced at Mello, who was lying on the ground a few feet away reading a book, but the blonde appeared completely uninterested in his activities. "Okay…" he agreed uncertainly.

"Close your eyes," instructed Temper. "Then I'll give it to you."

"Um…all right," he said aloud. "Should I…hold out my hands, or something?"

"What? Oh yeah." She nodded earnestly. "Hold out your hands."

"Okay." Matt closed his eyes and cupped his hands in his lap, and waited.

At first, nothing happened. Then a pair of lips pressed against his.

Matt's eyes flew open in surprise, astonishment rooting him to the spot. Temper was kissing him. Her friends were giggling like crazy. Out of the corner of his eye, Matt could just make out Mello glancing up from his book to see what the commotion was all about.

It happened so fast. One second Mello was lying there with a horrified expression on his face, and the next he was hauling Temper away from Matt by a vice grip on her upper arm. She screamed.

"Don't touch him!" shouted Mello, his voice drowning hers out. "You do not touch him! He's mine!"

Temper looked at the expression on Mello's face and shrieked again, her eyes widening in terror. "Let go of me!" She jerked back, trying to tug her arm out of his grip. "Stop it!"

"He is _mine!_" screamed Mello. "He. Is. Mine. You do not _touch_ him!" He shook her in time with each of his statements, and she went mute, all sounds of fear replaced by cowed trembling. "You do not look at him, you do not speak to him, you especially do not _touch_ him! He's _mine! _If you touch him again, I'll kill you!"

Then he let go. Temper staggered back, then regained her balance and fled. Her two friends had long since dashed away to watch the unfolding scene from a safe distance. Now the three of them sprinted back to the House doors together.

Mello whirled towards Matt, breathing heavily with anger. "Are you okay?" he demanded.

Matt cocked his head to the side and gave him a bemused smile. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "She gave me a _kiss_, not a punch in the face. You really didn't need to scream your head off and scare her like that."

Mello pursed his lips. "Was I that scary?"

The question made Matt grin. Mello didn't know his own strength sometimes. "You're always scary," he replied honestly, smiling openly so that Mello wouldn't take it as an insult.

"Hmm." Mello knelt in front of him. He began brushing his lips off with the tips of his fingers, as if he could wipe the kiss away. It was a little bit silly, but Matt held his peace and let him do what he wanted. Mello pulled his hand back and nodded in satisfaction. Then, abruptly, he shoved his body in between Matt's knees and grabbed the back of his head to pull him into a kiss. Mello's lips pressed into his voraciously, reclaiming the territory as his own in no uncertain terms. His possessiveness sent a wave of warmth through Matt's body, melting his insides and flushing his skin. He felt tingly all over. But the moment was marred slightly when he caught sight of Temper and her two friends staring at them from across the field.

He waited for a lull before he spoke. "Temper's watching us."

Mello glanced over his shoulder quickly, then turned back. "Don't care," he declared. "I want them to know!" He cupped Matt's face in his hands and kissed him again, more sweetly this time. "I want _everyone_ to know."

"Well…" Matt mulled the merits of this over in his mind for a few seconds. It was kind of uncomfortable to have someone watching while they kissed, but what really had the potential to be embarrassing was if Temper deduced what _else _they did behind closed doors. But the damage had already been done. Matt had his doubts that Temper knew about that stuff, anyway. "Okay," he said with a shrug.

Mello sat back on his heels and peered up at Matt curiously. "Was it terrible?" he asked. "Gross? It _looked _gross."

That question startled Matt. "Not really," he answered.

"What?" exclaimed Mello indignantly, his eyes flying wide open. "It felt _good?_"

"What?" Matt was taken aback. "I didn't say that. I just…" He shook his head. Truth be told, the kiss had been so quick and he had been so taken off guard that he could barely remember how her lips had felt against his. "It didn't really feel like much of anything at all," he admitted.

To his consternation, Mello frowned. "You're not allowed to be around her anymore!"

Matt stared at him in bemusement as he tried to figure out what Mello was driving at. "What…like…how do you expect me to do that, exactly? She's in all our classes."

Mello rocketed into a standing position and glared down at his friend. "Don't talk to her!" he flared. "Don't look at her either! Just—don't go anywhere near her!"

Matt thought that over for a moment, then shrugged. "Okay, whatever you say."

"I mean it!" exclaimed Mello.

"I said okay!" said Matt quickly, trying to keep exasperation out of his tone.

Mello tilted his face upwards and stared into his eyes, his gaze boring deeply into Matt. His presence was a little bit overwhelming, and Matt had to fight the urge to avert his eyes. It made him nervous that he was being inspected so closely and he didn't know what his friend was looking for. He strove to look as genuine as possible.

Then Mello nodded once in satisfaction. He straightened and planted his hands on his hips. "Put your sunglasses on," he commanded.

"You want them on?" Matt repeated in surprise. That was a new request; Mello was almost always telling him to take them off.

"That's what I just said, isn't it?" snapped Mello impatiently.

Matt dutifully placed the reflective lenses over his eyes. "Okay," he said.

"You're not allowed to take them off without my permission," declared Mello. "That's a rule now. You wear them all the time, unless I say." He frowned slightly as he considered what he had just said. "And except for when you're in the shower and in bed," he added. "Understand?"

"Um…why?"

"Because people will be less tempted to try to kiss you if they can't see how pretty your eyes are!" he exclaimed exasperatedly, as if Matt was very stupid not to have deduced this for himself. "It's obvious!"

Matt blinked. "My eyes are pretty?" he repeated in surprise.

Now it was Mello's turn to be taken aback. "Of course they are!"

Matt's brow furrowed as he tried to picture his eyes. Somehow, now that he was trying, he couldn't summon a clear image of them to his mind. He wanted to look at himself in a mirror, but of course there was none in the House yard. Then he remembered that he did have one reflective surface at his disposal. He pulled his sunglasses off of his head and tried to make out his reflection in one of the lenses.

Mello exclaimed in anger and slapped them out of his hand, then snatched them from the ground and shoved them back onto his face. "You're messing up already!"

"Sorry—sorry!" exclaimed Matt. He hadn't been thinking, hadn't even realized that he was about to directly defy something Mello had told him to do only two minutes ago. He readjusted the glasses to a more comfortable position on his nose and looked up at his friend. "So if I really have to follow this rule, can I make up one for you too?"

"What? No, of course not," said Mello shortly. "Don't be stupid."

"Why not?" asked Matt insistently. "How come you get to make up rules for me and I don't get to? That's not fair"

Mello stuck his nose in the air and crossed his arms over his chest. "Because you're third, and I'm older," he said primly.

"Hmmph," grumbled Matt. "By a _month._"

"By six weeks!" corrected Mello, as if this made all the difference in the world. He frowned. "Stupid Temper. Why would she do that in the first place? Can't she _tell _you're mine? Isn't it obvious?"

"Well it is now," said Matt with a grin. She was still watching them, now from a window in the front hallway. "But before now…" He shrugged as he mulled it over. "Why would it be obvious? We're both guys, y'know? Why would she expect us to…y'know…?"

Mello's fists clenched. "It doesn't matter that we're both guys!" he exclaimed. "It doesn't! It doesn't at all!" He crossed himself. "It doesn't."

Matt hesitated. He couldn't figure out why his friend was being so insistent on that point, when anyone could see that it wasn't true. It made all the difference in the world that they were guys, because they weren't supposed to kiss each other. But what really worried Matt was that Mello had crossed himself in the midst of it. That unconscious gesture meant that he was feeling guilty over something religious, and if there was one thing about Mello that still mystified Matt, it was his religion. He managed to get exactly the wrong message out of every bible passage and Christian teaching Mello had ever related to him. It always caused fights. Religion was the closest thing the two of them had to a taboo subject.

He replied carefully. "I just meant…when you think about it…I'm a guy, and you're a guy, and she's a girl, right? So technically, she probably has more of a right to kiss me than you d—"

He was cut off abruptly when Mello tackled him. He hit the ground and Mello was on top of him, shaking his shoulders roughly.

"Shut up! Shut up!" he screamed. "She does not! There's nothing wrong with what we do!"

"Whoa—Mel—" Matt tried to free himself from his grip, but it was a losing battle with Mello in the superior position. "I wasn't saying I _wanted _to, I was just—" He gave up trying to speak. He could barely gasp the words out, and it was abundantly clear that his friend wasn't listening anyway. Instead, he darted one hand out to hold the back of Mello's head and surged halfway up to kiss him. Mello struggled and managed a muffled noise of anger, but Matt held fast. He snaked the other hand down to his crotch and rubbed. Mello shoved at him roughly, but after a minute he got more docile. When he finally calmed, Matt released his head and broke the kiss. "Don't get mad," he said, making his most persuasive face.

Mello seemed somewhat mollified. "Fine. But I _do _want everyone to know that you're mine and that they shouldn't touch you. I _want _them to know the things we do together. They would be jealous." He took Matt's hands in his. "I'm going to touch you and make you spurt in front of the whole school so that everyone can see!"

Matt gaped as he pictured that, then grinned in amusement. "Okay," he said facetiously. "How 'bout on the cafeteria table at dinnertime? Or maybe the library. I'm _sure_ we wouldn't get in trouble, what with you being a Successor and all—ooh wait! I know! On Roger's desk!"

Mirth sent the last vestiges of anger running from Mello's features. He laughed. "Can you imagine what Roger would do? "Matt, Mello, please. This is extremely disrespectful. I am the Principal of this institution!""

""Please see things from my view. You are sweating onto important documents. In addition, semen may soak into the wood of this desk and stain it permanently."" Matt's impression ended when he could no longer keep a straight face or maintain his imitation of Roger's formal tone. Mello was already laughing so hard that his face had turned bright red.

"No," he said. "Nobody but Roger would see us there. We need a bigger audience."

Matt nodded with mock seriousness. "Right! Cafeteria it is, then."

Mello leaned in for another quick kiss. Then he jumped up and pulled Matt to his feet. "Come on. Let's go back inside."


	23. Chapter 23

Matt faithfully wore the sunglasses for the rest of the day. It made Mello smile every time he saw them resting on his face. Not that Matt in glasses was by any means an unusual sight, even during class or meals. But today he imagined that it was solely because of _him_ that Matt wore them, and that made his stomach flutter happily.

Temper approached Matt once, but she caught Mello watching her and scurried away before she could actually speak to him. Mello was quite pleased.

It wasn't until three days later, when the matter had all but dropped out of his mind, that he found out just how strictly his commands had been obeyed. He was sitting in an isolated corner of the library and studying when Temper approached him.

He was surprised that she wanted to talk to him. She had been avoiding him like the plague during the past several days—plus it took some serious guts to interrupt him while he was studying. He pinned her with an intense gaze, and she flinched back involuntarily.

"Um—hi Mello!" she squeaked. He raised his eyebrows. When he didn't answer, she cleared her throat and continued. "C—can I talk to you about something?"

Warily, he nodded. "Okay."

"I'm, um…I'm really sorry," she said, eyes downcast. "About…y—you know." She blushed and hurried on. "I didn't realize that you and Matt were…well, that you…that you guys…" She took a breath and tried again. "I didn't realize I was doing something wrong. I'm sorry. And would you tell Matt I said that too?" she pleaded. "I didn't mean to bother him."

In the back of his mind, Mello wondered why Temper was passing messages to Matt through him. "Fine," he answered.

"I promise I'll never do it again," she continued, fidgeting uncomfortably with a pencil. "I won't ever k—kiss Matt again."

"You'd better not," affirmed Mello, curious as to where this was leading.

"So can I talk to him again?" she asked hopefully. "Please? Without getting killed?"

That was when Mello remembered the death threat he had uttered in the heat of the moment. In the same breath, realization dawned. She had been following that order to the letter. She was asking him to pass messages to Matt because he had forbidden her to speak to him directly.

He looked over her appraisingly. "No," he said. "Stay away from him. I don't want you talking to him."

Temper took a step backwards, her expression devastated. It was obvious that she hadn't expected that answer. "Why not?" she asked plaintively. "I've known him for longer than you have!"

"I don't care!" snapped Mello. "He's not your friend anymore! He's _my _friend. So leave him alone!"

Tears spilled down Temper's cheeks, and she dashed them away with one hand. "But—but—he can have more than one friend, you know!" She sniffled. "And I really l—like Matt! Please?"

"I said no." Mello pinned her with his most menacing gaze, and she shrank back another step and hugged herself. He turned his attention back to his book, expecting her to slink away as soon as she realized that he was finished speaking to her.

Instead, she caught him by surprise for the second time that day. "You're so mean, Mello!" she shouted. "You jerk!" All around the library, heads perked up and turned towards them. "You used to be friendly and fun to hang around with, but now you're just—just cruel! I hate you! You're a bad person and I really, really hate you!"

Then she squeaked and clapped her hands over her mouth. Her eyes widened in terror as her brain caught up with her words. She turned and ran away before Mello could even formulate a response.

Mello stared after her in astonishment. "I'm not a bad person," he muttered to himself. "I'm not!"

A dozen pairs of eyes were still trained on him as he returned his gaze to his book. They made him self-conscious, and he decided he didn't feel like studying in the library anymore. He glanced at the time and decided that it was late enough in the evening for him to justify taking a break. He packed up his things and went to see Matt.

He found the redhead sprawled across his bed playing his video game. He glanced at Mello briefly when he walked in, then went back to staring at the glowing screen intently. "Hi," he said distractedly.  
"Hi," said Mello. He dropped his books and ran across the room to take a flying leap onto the bed. Matt rolled onto his back to get out of his way without ungluing his eyes from the screen. Mello watched him for a long moment as he held the game above his head, thumbs clicking intently. "Matty," he said.

"Hmm?"

"Temper yelled at me. Right in the middle of the library."

"She did?" Now there was real interest in Matt's voice. "Did you yell at her first?"

"No!" exclaimed Mello indignantly. "It came out of nowhere."

"Did you yell back afterwards?" inquired Matt.

Mello shook his head, forgetting that his friend wasn't looking at him. "She ran away. I didn't say anything at all."

"So Temper lost her temper, and you were the mellow one for once." Matt sniggered. "That's the first time _that's _ever happened."

Mello rolled his eyes. That joke had been beaten to death years ago. "Shut up," he said, and kicked Matt's thigh.

"Ow." Matt moved so that he wasn't within Mello's reach anymore, but didn't stop grinning.

Mello glared. "Matt. Put away that stupid game, would you? Let's touch each other instead."

To his dismay, Matt just shook his head. "Nah. I just did it a little while ago."

"What?" Mello bit his lip. "You did?"

"Yeah, in the shower." He shrugged apologetically. "Sorry."

Disappointment flipped to anger. First Temper threw a fit at him, and now Matt didn't even want to touch him. Life was contriving to suck today. "Why'd you do that?" he demanded.

"What?" Matt paused his game and stared at him blankly. "Why wouldn't I? It's been like…five days since the last time you had time for us to do it together." He took in the expression on Mello's face. "Hey, how was I supposed to know you were going to come up here _right now _and want to do it? I'm not psychic. Usually you're studying at this time of night."

That he was being perfectly logical didn't assuage Mello's irritation. "I can't believe you're being like this!" he exclaimed.

Matt sighed and relented. "All right, I'll touch you, how about that? Just don't spurt on me, because I just showered."

It wasn't exactly an enthusiastic invitation, but it was the best Mello was going to get right now. He pulled his pants down around his ankles and scooted across the bed. Matt started kissing him. He used one hand to rub his back underneath his shirt, and the other to touch his dick. It felt good, and his dick got stiff in almost no time. But the rest of Matt was very disappointing. He reacted differently than he did when he also wanted to spurt. He didn't squirm very much even when Mello rubbed his favorite places, and he was afraid to get too close to Mello for fear of getting semen on him. It was obvious that his heart just wasn't in it.

"Oh stop it!" Mello finally exclaimed in frustration, shoving his friend away. "I'll just do it myself." He replaced Matt's hand with his own and closed his eyes, concentrating on the physical sensation. He could find the best motions for himself faster than Matt could. He would spurt soon.

"Mel, if you're doing it yourself anyway, then can you not spurt all over my sheets?" Matt asked plaintively.

Mello stopped. He opened his eyes and stared at the redhead. He couldn't believe that he had just heard those words out of his friend. "God, Matt!" As if the sheets were more important than him!

His desire to spurt had been completely squashed by that comment. He stared blankly at his erection and his hand as he realized that he no longer wanted to finish. It was a first. He had never quit in the middle before, not once. Not even when he realized halfway through that it was going to be one of those times when it took forever and was sort of painful and hardly worth it by the time he actually managed to spurt. But this time, he was going to give up. He jumped off the bed with a guttural noise of disgust and pulled his pants up.

"Uh—I didn't mean…" Matt had finally figured out that he had done something wrong. "You can go ahead and do it! I don't mind. Really—"

"Shut up!" shouted Mello, rounding on him angrily. "You—"

Then an idea occurred to him, a thought so intriguing that all the anger drained out of him on the spot. He rested his hands on his hips and looked at Matt slyly through slitted eyes.

"New rule," he said. "You aren't allowed to touch yourself on your own anymore. Only with me."

Matt regarded him with his head cocked to the side. "Well, okay," he said. "But you're going to do the same, right? You won't touch yourself without me?"

Mello shook his head and smiled slightly. "No. I'll touch myself whenever I want. But you can't."

"Hey!" Matt frowned. "But that's not fair!"

"It's the rule now," said Mello obstinately. "You have to follow it."

"Well…but then, you can't leave me alone for five days anymore!"

"I can too," insisted Mello.

But what am I supposed to _do?_" Matt demanded, agape. "I can't go for—"

"You're supposed to not touch yourself!" snapped Mello, his tone and his glare indicating that this was the final word on that subject. Matt regarded him mutely, and Mello stared him down until he looked away.

"Fine," said Matt grumpily. He harrumphed. "That rule sucks."

But despite his grudging agreement, Matt followed the command. Mello found out two days later, when Matt confessed that he had dreamed of him the previous night and spurted in his sleep. "I hope that's allowed," he said worriedly. "Because I can't help that."

Mello assured him that it was, then left him alone for two more days. He noted Matt's growing restlessness during class during that time, and finally the redhead brought it up at dinner.

"Mel…are you going to come to my room tonight?" he asked softly, keeping his voice below the general threshold of conversation.

"Hmm? Why?" asked Mello innocently. "You want to study?"

"You know why!" hissed Matt. "Come on. It's been four days!"

Mello looked at him appraisingly. He was squirming in his seat. "Okay," he agreed. "I will."

But he didn't. He stayed in his own bed and touched himself while he pictured Matt getting all flushed and sweaty as he wished for him.

Matt was furious with him the next morning. "I can't believe you did that to me," he whispered when they got a moment alone. "It took me hours to get to sleep!"

"I'm sorry, I fell asleep," Mello told him innocently. But inwardly, he was rejoicing. He could hardly believe that Matt had followed the order even through _that. _"We'll do it as soon as we can." This time, he meant it.

"How soon?"

"Tonight," promised Mello.

Matt bounced in his seat a little bit. "Can we…can we do it sooner than that?"

That caught Mello by surprise. Usually Matt only liked to do it at night, in the dark, or in the showers first thing in the morning. He didn't like to get dirty during the middle of the day, and being naked when the room was bright embarrassed him. "When did you have in mind?" he asked curiously.

The tension in Matt's body was visible in the way he held himself. "Lunch?" he said hopefully.

Mello smiled. "Lunch," he agreed.

So when lunchtime arrived, Mello and Matt stole off to his bedroom instead of the cafeteria. This time around, Matt was infinitely more compliant than he had been the last time, eagerly agreeing to Mello's every suggestion. He was more fun than on a typical day. He shivered at even Mello's lightest touches, and his breathing kept hitching even though he was trying hard to control it. It was delightful. Mello had intended for this to be over quickly since their time was limited, but the reactions he was getting out of his friend were too delicious to pass up. He slowed down, keeping his hands away from Matt's dick to prolong the experience. Matt asked to be touched, first in breathy whispers, then more insistently. Still, Mello resisted, and to his amazement, the request turned into a plea. Fascinated, Mello moved his hands closer, pressed them lightly into his hips on either side of his dick. They were close enough that he could feel the heat from it, but they weren't quite touching. Matt twisted his hips, and Mello pulled them back slightly. Matt bucked against him, then writhed in place, desperately trying to bring his erection into contact with Mello's hands, but he kept them just out of reach.

Finally, Matt's words boiled over in an accusatory snap. "You're—you're _playing _with me! And you're doing it on_ purpose! _Stop it!"

Mello had mercy on him then. He took Matt's dick in his hand and began stroking. Matt turned bright red as he struggled to remain silent.

It was over very quickly. Matt made an inarticulate soft cry when he spurted, and Mello thought it one of the best sounds he had ever heard. The redhead was left panting for breath and beaming, his previous irritation completely forgotten. "Whoa," he said. "That was…really good. Better than usual!"

Mello agreed, even though he hadn't had his turn yet. That episode gave him a lot to think about. The goal when touching each other had always been to create as much good feeling as fast as possible in order to ejaculate. That was the best part, so it made sense to race there. But now Mello was starting to consider the merits of doing the opposite. He had never seen Matt behave quite like that before. This was the gateway to a whole new side of him, he could tell already. A Matt who pleaded for his touch. A Matt who was malleable and docile and didn't fight him every step of the way.

There were many, many things he could do with a Matt like that. The myriad of possibilities bloomed within his mind, more ideas than he could process at once, a flurry of teeming potential that promised to be very fruitful once he could sit down and sort through it. It occurred to him that he probably could have made Matt beg to be touched on hands and knees and gotten away with it. He could have made him—there were so many things he could have made him do. Next time—and there _would _be a next time—he would do just that.

He was incredibly thrilled with himself for handling the problem in this fashion. He decided that it was probably the best idea he had ever had.

After that, there were more rules. They came and went as Mello thought of them and tired of them. One day he had Matt eat nothing but lettuce. Matt didn't like lettuce—or any vegetable, for that matter—but he did it anyway. He and Mello shared a private grin each time he popped one of the green leaves into his mouth, and their classmates stared in mystification and tried to figure out what kind of game they were playing. Another time, he told Matt to wear all of his clothes inside out. It was pure entertainment to watch students and teachers alike puzzle over why. When asked directly, Matt just smiled slightly and answered, "Because."

He started making Matt abstain from speaking to other students for stretches of time. Sometimes it was just one or two people, sometimes it was everybody. Their classmates didn't know how to respond to it, and Matt's reputation for unsociability increased dramatically.

Then Mello started adding teachers to the list. He watched in amazement as Mrs. Westbrook stood glaring down at Matt, hands on hips and eyes flashing, and shouted her third consecutive demand that he answer the question. Matt just stared back at her innocently. It went on for five full minutes before she exhausted her arsenal of threats. Then she ordered Matt to Roger's office, fuming. The redhead went without so much as a backwards glance.

It was fun. It was their special game that they played, yet another thing that belonged only to the two of them.

Matt went along with Mello's wishes most of the time. But every once in awhile, he was still ornery. If he insisted on disobeying when Mello was in the wrong mood, it would start a fight. Mello inevitably won, which led to Matt's eventual compliance anyway, but he hated having to go through it. He couldn't stand that when he told Matt to do something in front of classmates and teachers, he faced the possibility that his friend would defy him publicly. He dealt with this by refusing to touch him when he was at his most stubborn. Matt never made it past four days without breaking. That became the final word in any long-running argument.

Matt understood what was going on, of course. He knew that whether he resisted at first or just complied, the net result would be the same. It didn't take long before he stopped fighting.

Mello kept waiting for the day he rebelled, kept waiting for the day he declared one of the rules too difficult or too stupid to be worth it. He kept waiting for Matt to remember that there was nothing forcing him to obey Mello's ban on touching himself, or to realize that he didn't have to be subject to Mello's discipline. He kept waiting for Matt to lose his temper and beat the living shit out of him. He was under no illusions as to the outcome of that fight. Matt was bigger than him and practically his match in intelligence; he would win if he put his mind to it.

But it didn't happen. Matt's rebellion never went beyond nagging complaints. The rules stood: if Mello said, "Don't sleep," Matt would be awake until his body failed him and he passed out on his feet. If he said, "Don't eat," Matt would sit perfectly still in the cafeteria and mutely watch the food travel from Mello's plate to his mouth. Mello realized that he had gotten away with it. He had conquered Matt's legendarily ornery nature; now Matt was his to do with as he saw fit.

It was intoxicating. There was no other feeling in the world that could quite compare to this one, not even beating Near on an exam. Playing with Matt became his greatest joy. He started thinking of his best friend as his most prized possession, right along with his rosary.

But while Mello now had Matt obeying him, the redhead had become extraordinarily rebellious towards everyone else. He scorned all House rules, unless Mello specifically told him to observe them. He defied teachers to their faces, and called their bluffs when they threatened him with consequences. The staff sent him to Roger's office with such frequency that they soon collectively gave up.

Mello enjoyed watching the progression immensely. He would see teachers try to talk to Matt, try to yell at him, try to plead with him, and finally throw their hands up in frustration. He would gleefully watch them stalk away, and he would think, _You wish. _But he, Mello, was the only one who had figured out how to pierce Matt's aloof shell. He felt like he had the biggest and best secret in the world. He wondered if this was what it was like to have a pet. Being an orphan, he'd never had one, of course, but he had read that dogs were supposed to be uncompromisingly loyal and devoted to their masters. Matt was a lot like that. If Mello didn't pay attention to him, he got sullen and spent his time listlessly playing his games. Sometimes when Mello walked through the door, he lit up so much that he half expected him to jump up and start licking his face. He was more certain than ever that Matt had been sent to him by God as a sort of replacement for the unconditional love and affection he was supposed to have received from a set of parents he couldn't even remember.

The two of them were a force to be reckoned with now. Students stayed out of their way, and staff members worked hard to avoid confrontations they knew they could not win. Even Roger left them alone. They were virtually inseparable, and when they walked down the House halls, no one dared bother them.


	24. Chapter 24

Mello dashed up the stairs two at a time. He was finished for the evening, and there was more than an hour left before bedtime. He threw back the door of Matt's bedroom and ran inside without even stopping to knock.

Matt glanced up from his game curiously. "What—"

Mello practically tackled him in his urgency to kiss. Matt's exclamation of surprise was muffled against his lips. Mello was already panting, and not just from the run up here.

Matt kissed back, but not with the same frenetic energy. Mello broke away and looked him over suspiciously. It had been six days; Matt should be practically crawling the walls in desperate need by now. Instead he was kissing back calmly, in control, pacing himself.

"You touched yourself, didn't you," said Mello quietly.

Matt swallowed and looked away. "I…I couldn't help it! It had been four whole days! I—"

"It doesn't matter!" interrupted Mello. "You aren't supposed to do it without my permission! Look at me!"

Matt met his eyes. Here in the privacy of his room, no sunglasses separated them. Mello slapped him hard across the face. The crack echoed sharply off the walls. Matt whimpered and covered his cheek with his hand, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"You _don't touch yourself,_" repeated Mello, as if Matt hadn't heard it enough times. "You only get to feel good with me!"

Matt nodded. He looked up slowly and met Mello's eyes shyly through his lashes. "I thought of you when I did it," he said softly, the faintest trace of a smile playing about his lips.

"You'd better have!" Mello stepped closer and pulled his hand away from his cheek. "What did you think about?" He gently kissed the reddened imprint that his fingers had left behind.

"About you and…um, touching you…"

Mello grinned and turned Matt's face towards him in order to look into his eyes. "More specifically than that," he insisted. "What did you think about?"

"I thought about…you putting your…" He trailed off, a hot blush spreading upwards from his neck. He tried again. "You put your hand on my—on my—" He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. "I can't say it!"

"Say it," urged Mello. "You tell me what you thought about, and then we'll do it."

Matt took a deep breath. Then he screwed up his face and blurted, "We were both naked and touching each other and using our tongues on each other everywhere and then we did that thing where you lie on top of me and we kiss and rub our dicks together until we both spurt!" His jaw snapped shut and he froze completely, but for the flush that was still reddening his skin.

Mello laughed. "So you want me to use my tongue on you? Where?" Matt shook his head quickly, his eyes begging Mello for a reprieve. Mello decided to give it to him. "Okay, you don't have to tell me in words. I'll let you show me instead, how about that?" Matt nodded gratefully. Mello kissed him once, then danced back. "Okay! Get naked!"

Some time later, they lay on the bed entwined in one another's arms, trying to catch their breath. Mello giggled with exhilaration and rolled partially off of Matt. He grinned at the way his skin slipped across his friend's, lubricated by sweat and semen. He ran his fingers over his stomach and lifted a glob of off-white goo. "Haha, Matt, you're a mess!" He sniffed at the substance and wrinkled his nose. It smelled kind of bad, but it was such a distinctive odor that he had to do it every once in awhile. Actually he smelled his almost every time he did it alone, but Matt called him gross if he caught him doing it, so he only smelled Matt's if the redhead wasn't paying attention. Like now. Still, he had learned that it smelled slightly different when it came out of Matt than it did when it came out of him. He rubbed the sticky substance between his fingers, then pulled them apart slowly and tried to make it stretch as far as possible. "Ew."

When Matt still didn't respond, Mello glanced at his face. He realized that his friend was on the verge of passing out, a sharp contrast to his own energy. He shook Matt's shoulder until his eyes fluttered groggily open. "Matty! Don't fall asleep yet. It's still early."

Once upon a time, Matt would have argued. But these days, they had so little time to spend together that he knew better than to waste it. "'Kay." He stretched, then opened his eyes and levered himself into a sitting position against the wall.

Mello sat next to him. "So did it feel better today than it did when you touched yourself and imagined me?"

Matt smiled. "Way better."

Mello grinned. He moved to wipe his fingers off on the sheets, but Matt's protest stopped him.

"Not on my sheets, Mel," he said in a pained voice. "I have to sleep on these until Sunday."

Rather than argue, Mello arched an eyebrow at him. "Okay," he said coyly. "I'll just lick it off, then."

Matt's hand moved like lightning to catch his wrist before his fingers reached his lips. "Mello! That's disgusting! You can't do that!"

The look of absolute horror on his face almost made Mello laugh. Truthfully, he had tasted his own a few times just out of curiosity. It wasn't that bad. But Matt was so adamant that the idea of tasting semen was too gross to even contemplate that he hadn't told him. "Fine," he said airily. "Sheets it is, then." He pulled his arm out of Matt's grip and wiped his fingers on the bed before he could stop him. Matt heaved a defeated sigh.

Mello kept rubbing until his fingers stopped sticking together and barely smelled. Then he pressed against Matt, resting one hand on his chest. Matt put an arm around his shoulders and held him tightly. Mello wriggled closer still, and Matt obliged him by running his fingers up and down his spine how he knew that he liked it. The way they touched each other in the lee time after their dicks had spurted was very different from the way they touched before. It still felt wonderful, but instead of setting his skin on fire with the need to be rubbed and licked, it melted him slowly from the inside out. It didn't make him impatient to reach the end, it made him want to prolong it forever. He nuzzled Matt's shoulder affectionately.

For several long minutes, neither of them spoke. Full dark had long since fallen, and the only light in the room was what leaked in under the door and around the blinds. There were no sounds other than their own breaths. They were isolated, alone in the midnight world that belonged only to them. This had been their special time together since long before they had learned about ejaculation. Almost since Mello's arrival, in fact. During these times, none of the rules of the daylight world applied. During these times, Matt could sometimes be coaxed into opening up and talking about himself. The possibilities were limitless in the dead of night.

Mello lifted his head from Matt's shoulder and brought it up just high enough that he could see his eyes. Their faces were very close, close enough that he could feel the heat from Matt's skin. Matt tilted his head slightly so that he could meet Mello's eyes. He didn't shy away at all, not even when Mello brushed his lips against his jawbone. He smiled inwardly. Conditions were definitely right.

Mello returned his face to Matt's chest. He pressed his nose into the little cleft between his collarbone and his neck where the redhead was just slightly ticklish. "Hey, Matt," he murmured. "Tell me a secret."

"Hmm? A secret?" Matt's hand traced languid circles across Mello's back. He remained silent for several seconds before shaking his head. "I don't have any left. You have them all already."

"That's not true," said Mello softly. His heart fluttered nervously; he was pushing farther than he had ever dared before, and he knew it. "You have at least one." He lifted his head slowly, letting his nose rub up against Matt's neck. Matt shivered and tilted his head so that the caress could continue all the way up to the soft spot below his ear. Mello let his lips brush across Matt's ear as he whispered, "Tell me where you were before you were here."

Matt's head whipped about so quickly that Mello jerked back in fear of his nose getting hit. The redhead's eyes were narrowed in consternation. In the entire time they had known each other, Matt had never spoken a word about his past beyond confirming his American heritage, not even when Mello had shared his own story. Now Mello started to wonder if he had gone too far. "Why do you want to know that?" Matt asked suspiciously.

"I just…I want to know you," said Mello simply.

Green eyes bored into his for what felt like a long time before Matt looked away and spoke. "I was at another orphanage," he said shortly. "I—got my first video game there. It was…" He trailed off, then closed his mouth again.

Mello recognized his brusqueness as difficulty in talking about something painful rather than an unwillingness to do so. He would have to lead him along. "Matty," he said gently. "What was it like there?"

It was the little things that gave away the tension in Matt; the set of his jaw, the shift in his breathing, the slight pressure of his fingers on Mello's back. "Cold," he said quietly.

That single word seemed to express it all. Mello felt no need to press him for stories. He wrapped his arms tightly around Matt's neck so that their cheeks pressed together. "Is it better here?" he asked softly. "Are you warm now?"

"Y—yes," murmured Matt, embracing Mello tightly. "Where you're touching me, it's warm." He kissed the only part of Mello within his reach at the moment, which was his shoulder. Mello felt his lips pull back into a grin. "But actually, the rest of me is starting to freeze a little."

"Oh!" Mello jerked upright. He was cold himself, now that the heat they had generated rubbing their bodies together had dissipated. He grabbed the blankets and comforter and pulled them up around himself and Matt, making them a nice warm nest. "Better?"

"Yes."

Mello sat back against the wall next to Matt and held his hand. "So do you…remember your parents at all?"

Once again, there was a long silence before Matt answered. "I remember my dad. My mom wasn't around. But dad…yeah, I remember him."

Mello was listening in rapt fascination. "What was he like?"

A melancholy smile spread across Matt's lips. "He was…really nice, y'know? We were…normal, y'know? Like…he used to read books to me before bed, and teach me letters and stuff. He got me a dinosaur costume for me for Halloween one year and we went trick-or-treating together. I ate so much candy…" He trailed off for a moment, eyes unfocused, staring into the world of memory. "He—he took me to a baseball game, this one time. We sat right behind home plate...he bought me a jersey and—and a hat—" He broke off in a sound that was dangerously close to a sob. Mello wrapped his arms around his shoulders and held him tightly. Matt shook, but no tears fell. "I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled. "Tell me how you picked 'Mello' instead."

The question touched on some of Mello's oldest memories, and he stilled. "I…think it's something my mom used to call me," he said quietly. It was such a distant recollection, so fragmented and vague, that he couldn't be sure he hadn't invented it over the years. "I think."

Matt snaked one arm around his waist. "See? I told you that you don't hate your parents," he murmured, keeping his tone deliberately light. They had fought about this in the past.

"Hmmph." Mello changed positions so that he could shrug callously and cross his arms over his chest. "You're right, I don't hate them. I don't care about them either way. They didn't need me, and I don't need them. I'm just fine on my own!" His thoughts drifted of their own accord to the present day. Were they still alive out there somewhere? What were they doing? Did they ever miss him, or even think of him at all? Did they regret abandoning him at that orphanage? Were they ever sad that all he had of them was the name they had given him and his rosary? He closed his eyes. _Why _had they done it? That was the eternal question, the most important one of all. Did they just not want to bother with raising a son? Or was it something completely different—could they have been on the run from the Mafia or something like that? Maybe they had given him up for his own good, in order to protect him. After all, they had taken care to leave him at a Catholic orphanage where he could learn the faith. That almost _had _to be a sign that they cared, didn't it?

Mello sighed. There were so many unanswered questions. He had prayed about it many times, but he had never received an answer. "Do you think they loved me?" he whispered.

"Of course they loved you," Matt answered immediately.

Mello snorted and jerked away from him. He didn't want to hear empty platitudes, and he hadn't expected Matt to speak them. "Yeah, right, obviously," he snapped.

"What?"

"Don't give me bullshit!

Matt gave him a wounded look. "I'm not. It's the truth. They _had _to have loved you. How could they not?" He shook his head in bafflement. "How could anyone not?"

He was so matter-of-fact about it that it was impossible to disbelieve him. Mello shivered from head to toe in pleasure. "Oh, Matty…you…" Words didn't seem adequate. Mello kissed him deeply in gratitude. "Thank you." He pulled back and looked over his friend carefully. He didn't want this honest discussion to come to an end. He had Matt telling the truth, and he didn't want to let that go. He took a deep breath and steeled himself to ask an even more painful question. "So how did you… how did you end up an orphan?"

Matt's eyes closed for a long moment. Then he smiled bitterly. "Car accident," he answered.

The lie was a slap across the face. Mello recoiled. "Car accident" was considered by the Wammy's House students to be the most generic way to lose one's family. It was what people said when the truth was too dark or painful to talk about. Everyone understood it to be a lie when they received that answer.

Then Mello looked at his friend more closely. His eyes widened. "You…you're serious, aren't you?"

Matt nodded wearily. "Pathetic, isn't it?"

Mello had never realized that that was Matt's true story. Suddenly he thought back on all of the times he had heard those words, even times when he had flippantly _said _those words right next to Matt. Guilt washed over him. "It's not pathetic. It's tragic. I…I'm sorry I said that in front of you!"

Matt shook his head. "'S'okay."

"But I'm really sorry."

Matt ran his fingers through Mello's hair reassuringly and flashed him a brief smile. "I said it's okay. You didn't know."

Mello hesitated, but his friend seemed to mean it. He decided reluctantly to let it go and move on. "So your scar…?"

Matt stiffened. It was the arm that was around Mello. A curved line on his upper arm that terminated in a jagged welt, and a complex network of white lines on his wrist. He had always been so obviously sensitive about it, even going to the length of wearing long sleeves no matter what the weather to hide it, that Mello had never dared inquire before.

"Y—yeah," acknowledged Matt softly. "That's how I got them."

Mello walked his fingers up Matt's limb and traced the marks lightly. Matt was tense against him, but he tolerated the touch. "It doesn't look bad, you know."

"It's not that," mumbled Matt. "I just don't like people asking about it."

Mello laced his fingers through Matt's. "It must have been awful," he said quietly.

"It was…it was just so sudden," said Matt. "One second we were these normal people with these normal, happy lives, and the next—" He shrugged helplessly. "Surgery for hours to try to retain a full range of motion in my left hand. Then off to an orphanage. All gone, just like that." He snapped his fingers, then dropped his arm listlessly to his side.

Mello stroked his hand reassuringly, for once at a loss of what to say. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

Matt sighed in frustration. "It's just so…stupid! Why couldn't we have left home three minutes sooner? Why couldn't she have just noticed the red light a half a second earlier? That's all it would've taken to keep our car from flipping over! So many things…" He shook his head, his eyes dangerously shiny. "If any tiny aspect of that day had been different, it wouldn't have ended up that way. But it just _happened. _And we were just unlucky enough to be in the middle of it. It was so pointless. And now my dad is dead, and why? For no good reason. For no reason at all! It was just a really shitty coincidence, and—and—" He shook his head and deflated, all of the anger and indignation draining out of him. "And there was no point." He met Mello's gaze, his eyes dull and lifeless. "There is no point, Mello." He gestured, and it seemed to include everything; Wammy's House, exams, their day-to-day existence, the world. Life itself. "No point."

Mello bit his lip. He knew that telling Matt that everything happened for a reason would be the worst possible thing he could say right now. Matt didn't believe, so he couldn't comfort himself with the knowledge that God had a plan for him, or that he would see his father again some day in heaven. His world was governed by accident and mistake and chance. So instead of speaking, Mello remained silent and tried to picture the world as Matt saw it, as nothing more than cause and effect and random coincidence. A world where people didn't exist before they were born and vanished again into oblivion when they died, a world where there was no larger guiding force behind any action.

In that world, he realized, everything _was_ truly pointless. People were just isolated creatures living from day to day, and it made no difference in the long run whether they even lived or died. Mello's heart leapt into his throat and he covered his mouth with his hands, eyes wide. It was a painful, barren, meaningless world, where the Earth was nothing more than an immeasurably tiny planet within a mind-bogglingly huge and empty universe. Even the summary of all of humanity's actions meant nothing on that scale. It was unimaginably, overwhelmingly lonely. Mello felt like he was freezing to the core just thinking about it, and _that was the world Matt lived in all the time._

A sob tore its way free of Mello's throat. "No, Matty!" he gasped. "I don't want you to be that lonely!" He threw his arms around his friend's neck and buried his face in his shoulder. "No!"

"Whoa—what—" Slightly stunned, Matt brought his hands to Mello's shoulders and lifted him gently. "What are you talking about? I'm not lonely. You're right here with me."

Mello stared back at him helplessly. He wished that there was some way that he could bring Matt into his world, which was, after all, a world of love. He took his friend's hand in his. "Matt. Don't get mad. I know you don't believe it and you don't want to hear it, but you will see your dad again in heaven."

Matt smiled sourly. "I'm not going to heaven," he said. "I don't have an immortal soul. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

His tone was tired, but not angry. Mello was guardedly encouraged, as well as relieved. This was by far the most civil they had ever been to one another when religious matters came up. Mello pressed his luck. "Souls are real."

Matt sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. "I could believe that," he said, to Mello's surprise. He met Mello's eyes and smiled slightly. "I could believe that you have one. But I don't."

That baffling and disturbing statement made Mello's heart leapt into his throat. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.

"You're so…special, and amazing. You do these things that…" He trailed off and gestured vaguely, unable to find the right words. "I could believe you're more than just human…that some part of you will never die. But I'm…I'm just Matt, you know?" He smiled wanly.

"Shut up!" shouted Mello. Matt jerked back in surprise at the vehemence in his tone. "Don't talk about yourself like that! Matt!" Mello shot into a kneeling position and grabbed his friend's shoulders to look him squarely in the eyes. "You have a soul. I can see it. It's beautiful."

Matt stared back at him, incomprehension written all over his face. "I don't know why it is that you think you see that in me. I don't know…" His voice dropped, and he stared at Mello with helpless uncertainty. "I don't know what you see in me."

"I see you! It's you!" He straddled Matt's hips so that his friend was trapped between himself and the wall, and grabbed his shoulders firmly. Matt looked up at him with wide eyes, his mouth forming an o of surprise. "All I see is _you, _Matty." He shook his head. "No. You aren't "just Matt." You aren't even Matt at all!" He used the extra height that this position gave him to his full advantage and stared down at Matt commandingly. "You have a real name. Tell me what it is."

"What?" Matt tensed against him. "But—Mello, we're not supposed to talk about that! If Kira were to learn our names—or anyone, not just Kira! We need to stay anonymous. Our real names can only be a weakness!"

Mello nodded gravely. "Yes. Telling someone your real name is tantamount to giving them the power of life or death over you." He cupped Matt's face between his palms. "I want you to give me that power over you," he breathed. "Place your life in my hands, Matty. I want you to be mine."

Matt's mouth hung halfway open, and his eyes had glazed over. Mello held his gaze, and the redhead's breath quickened as the moment stretched. Mello could see the hunger in him. Not the hunger for the feeling of his dick spurting, not the hunger to be hugged or held or touched in any way. It was the other thing, the thing Mello had no words for. He knew before Matt opened his mouth that he was going to agree.

"Yes," Matt whispered hoarsely. "I'll tell you."

Mello rejoiced inwardly. "What is it?"

Matt opened his mouth and paused, plucking at the sheet nervously with one hand. "It's a dumb name," he said.

"I won't laugh no matter what it is," promised Mello. He trailed his hands over Matt's face to the back of his head and buried them in his hair. "Tell me."

"Okay." Matt's head bobbed once nervously. "It's M—M—it's M—" He broke off. Mello understood; so many years of ingrained silence were hard to break. He leaned down so that he could whisper directly into his ear. Matt swallowed audibly and began again. "It's M—Mail Jeevas!" he finally managed.

"Mail," repeated Mello. "Mail Jeevas. Mail Jeevas." He rolled the name around on his tongue, tasting it, getting to know it. A grin slowly bloomed across his features. It was the perfect name for him, the very distillate of his true essence. It was his soul, his spirit, it was all that was Matt. It rested in Mello's hands now. "Mail Jeevas!" He laughed aloud in pure delight, then sobered and rested his forehead against Matt's. "Mail Jeevas," he breathed. "You are mine."

He felt the convulsive shiver that ran through Matt's body. Something released within him, and he went limp beneath Mello, staring up at him. Mello kissed his forehead once and repeated himself. "You are mine."

Matt's eyes rolled back into his head in pleasure. Mello looked over him in awe. This was Matt with no barriers left, Matt completely vulnerable. Mello held his best friend's still-beating heart in his hands. _This_ was what he was on the inside, underneath that aloof shell, this delicate, beautiful creature of spun sugar and crystal, so fragile he would shatter at the smallest false move on Mello's part. Mello stroked his hair, his cheeks, his shoulders, his back, and Matt melted against him, crying out softly with need. Matt was empty, but Mello filled him up, pouring himself into him, warming all the lonely, cold places within him. Matt was putty in his hands, moaning wantonly as Mello gave him what he needed, for once holding nothing back, letting Mello see the pleasure that he created. It had nothing to do with ejaculation; it was something far deeper than that, something that made that physical feeling pale in comparison. They were together completely, they were one single entity. They were M.

"Mail Jeevas," breathed Mello softly. "Your soul belongs to me." Then he kissed Matt until the redhead's desperate whimpers peaked and gradually faded into soft sighs of contentment. They broke apart, and he held Matt's head against his chest until he stopped trembling.

Matt finally looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, his lips curved into a slight smile. There was a certain air of satiation about him that Mello had never seen before. He brushed his fingertips across Matt's lips, and he responded by closing his eyes and kissing them. "Mail Jeevas," Mello murmured once more.

Now Matt's eyes flicked downward shyly. "To tell you the truth, Mello, I've always hated that name."

"Have you?" Mello asked, startled.

"It's just so weird," said Matt with an apologetic shrug.

Mello gave him a questioning look. "I like it," he said.

"I've always wanted a normal name," said Matt by way of explanation.

Mello laughed and nodded. "So that must be why you chose "Matt," the most boring name in the world."

"It's not boring!" exclaimed Matt defensively. "It's normal!"

"I'm just teasing you," said Mello placatingly. He darted forward to lick the tip of Matt's nose.

Matt jerked back and wrinkled his nose, but he was also grinning a tiny bit as he lifted his free hand to wipe the wetness off. "Weirdo," he accused. Mello grinned unrepentantly. Then Matt's expression sobered. "Mel…will you…will you tell me yours too? Your real name?" His eyes were huge, shining with hope and fear. "Please?"

Mello nodded. "Yes, Matty. I trust you." He opened his mouth and paused. It occurred to him that this was the first time he'd spoken his own name aloud in ages. He felt the same hesitancy that Matt had displayed earlier, the same fluttering nervousness in his stomach. He was about to break a record that was years long. It was something that could only be done with Matt, his best friend, the other half of M. He leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "I'm Mihael Keehl."

Matt's sharp inhalation caught him by surprise. "Oh! That's…that's such a pretty name!" he exclaimed.

"You like it?" Mello asked, pulling back so he could see Matt's face. "But it's also unusual. Shouldn't you hate it?"

Matt shook his head and smiled. "No, no way. It's you. You're…" He gestured vaguely. "_You._ You could never be a Matt."

Mello regarded him for a long moment. He thought, _Neither could you._ Matt was anything but boring and average, with his pretty face and his mysterious attitude. Mello had always liked the way he himself looked, had always been proud of his beautiful face and his quintessentially American blonde hair/blue eyes combination, but the truth was that he was a little bit jealous of Matt's coloring. His hair was _so _red, his eyes so incredibly emerald that it bordered on unnatural. He drew every eye in the room just by walking in; Mello would have picked him out of a crowd of strangers as the person he wanted to talk to the most solely because of how he looked.

He didn't try to say this aloud, though. Matt had a strange blind spot when it came to having an accurate perception of himself, and attempts to correct it by telling him how smart and beautiful he was tended to embarrass him. Instead, Mello slid off of him and sat next to him again. He took Matt's hand in his and caught his eyes. "Matty," he began. "Mail. Make me a promise on my real name."

Matt cocked his head. "Okay. What do you want me to promise?"

"Anything you want," answered Mello. "You think of it."

"Hmm." Matt rested his head against the wall and looked up at the ceiling as he thought this over. Then he turned back to Mello with a shy smile on his face. "Okay. How about this." He clasped Mello's hand in both of his and scooted away from the wall in order to sit facing him. Mello followed his lead, curious as to what his friend had in mind. Once they were situated, Matt pulled Mello's hand to his chest and took a deep breath. He met Mello's eyes somberly. "Mihael Keehl. I, Mail Jeevas, promise that I will always be your best friend. Forever."

Mello was completely entranced, swept away by the solemn mood and the power of his words. He felt hot all over. He tried to formulate a response, but he was too choked up.

The serious expression on Matt's face flickered, then was replaced by uncertainty. "No," he said. "That wasn't any good. That was dumb." He scratched his head with one hand. "Um, I—"

"No, no!" interrupted Mello quickly. "It was—Matty, that was a wonderful promise." He squeezed Matt's hand. "Thank you."

"It's a useless promise," said Matt softly. His eyes were fixed somewhere around Mello's left knee. "It can't be."

Mello's hand reflexively tightened on Matt's. "Why not?" he asked.

Matt smiled sadly. "Because you're going to succeed L. And then you'll be in hiding, being the world's greatest detective and bringing justice to criminals. You'll be living your dream, as M. And I'll be…" Tears spilled down his cheeks silently, but he made no move to hide them or wipe them away. "I…don't know where I'll be, then."

"No! No, no, no! Never!" Mello yanked on Matt's wrists as hard as he could. Matt toppled forward with a surprised exclamation. His shoulder impacted Mello's chest and his head cracked into his chin, but he didn't care. He held onto his friend fiercely, scratching skin and bruising flesh, wanting desperately to drive the thought of parting from his mind and Matt's. "Never, Matty! You'll be with me then. Wherever I go, I'll take you with me!" He squeezed Matt as hard as he could, eliciting a pained squeak from his friend. "You're mine! You're mine! That lasts forever. We'll be M together!"

Matt made a little mewling sound somewhere between a gasp and a cry, and Mello realized that he was manhandling his friend. He immediately released his death grip on his torso and pulled his nails away from his skin. He held Matt at arm's length and looked him over. His eyes were wide with surprise and a tinge of fear, but he wasn't fighting him. Mello shoved him backwards, and the redhead yelped as he straddled him and pressed his shoulders into the mattress. "You are mine," he said. Beneath him, Matt stilled and watched him raptly. Mello adjusted his position so that his face was directly above Matt's. "This is my promise to you, Mail Jeevas. I, Mihael Keehl, promise that wherever I go, I'll bring you with me." He placed one hand, fingers splayed, over Matt's heart. "I promise that you will be mine forever."

Matt whimpered something, not words. He tensed beneath Mello, trembling like a bowstring. His shuddering breaths begged far more effectively than words ever could. Mello plunged forward and kissed him so forcefully that his lips tingled afterwards.

Matt's dick was getting hard again. Mello grinned against his lips. It had been long enough since last time; they could do it again now. His eyes inadvertently strayed to the clock, which informed him that he had stayed up for hours beyond what was advisable. Tomorrow was going to be painful.

He resolutely shoved that knowledge out of his mind. He didn't want to think about the return of stress and pressure that the next morning would bring, didn't want to think about the thankless battle with Near that he would reenter when the alarm went off. He refused to let thoughts of the daytime world mar this perfect moment. That was later; this was now, in the night time world that was theirs. This was his time with Matt, when the two of them could be together as M, as they were meant to be. Mello closed his eyes and molded his body to Matt's, and lost himself in his best friend's embrace.


	25. Chapter 25

Roger glanced up at the hesitant knock and found Matt standing sullenly in the doorway of his office. "Come in," he said quickly. "Have a seat."

Matt crossed the room slowly and seated himself on the other side of Roger's desk. His face was wearing its characteristically blank, bored expression, and was partially obscured by his bangs. His gaze seemed to be fixed on the floorboards at the left corner of the room, but it was difficult to be certain behind those sunglasses of his. They had been practically glued to his head lately, even during classes.

Roger hesitated for several seconds as he tried to decide where to begin, then settled on the tried and true. "Matt, do you know why I called you to my office today?" The redhead shrugged with one shoulder. "Your rankings have been fluctuating wildly as of late." He paused to allow Matt to react, but the boy didn't. "I'm told that you were _twelfth _ in the last Math exam—bottom of the Elite Class."

Matt just shrugged noncommittally again. Roger sighed in exasperation. He was a difficult one, Matt. It was virtually impossible to pin him down on anything. He was as slippery as a fish, and he shut down more tightly than a clam when pushed.

He tried again. "Matt, I know that L has dropped you from official Successorship, but that does not give you license to give up on your studies. You are still third in line in the rankings of this House. L could choose to reinstate your Successorship at any time."

"Nah," said Matt. "L won't change his mind about me."

"You don't know that—"

"Yeah I do."

Roger sighed. "Even if that is the case, there is still the possibility that something could happen to Mello or Near. You need to be prepared to step into their shoes, if—"

"Nothing's going to happen to Mello." Matt's tone was like ice.

On the heels of the surprise at getting a reaction out of the boy came the chagrined realization that he had said something very insensitive. Of _course_ it would bother Matt to hear about his best friend's potential demise; how could it not? Roger cleared his throat and studied the redhead as he considered his options. Between his long hair and his reflective sunglasses, more than half of Matt's face was hidden. It was impossible to read his expressions. "Matt, could you take off your glasses, please?"

"No."

Roger didn't order him to take them off. Matt would snub a command just as easily as he blew off a request, and Roger absolutely hated losing direct confrontations with students. It just reminded all involved that he had absolutely no authority over them anymore. Mello had made Roger's greatest fear a reality on the day that he had gone into open rebellion, and by now most of the House had gone with him. The children all called him Roger, and the staff alone doggedly persisted in calling him Mr. Ruvie. All it accomplished was to draw attention to their ineffectuality and highlight the absurdity of the whole situation. It would be funny, if it weren't his life.

So he chose a different approach. He pushed his high-backed chair away from the desk and dragged it out next to Matt. Matt watched him with nonplussed indifference, and he felt idiotic the moment he sat down. He had hoped that removing the large expanse of mahogany from between them would make Matt feel more comfortable talking to him, but all he had succeeded in doing was making himself feel ten times more exposed and awkward. Somehow he couldn't shake the feeling that the genius mind hidden behind those sunglasses was analytically dissecting his actions and arriving at the same conclusion that Roger himself had: that he was an ineffectual old man who was desperately trying to keep everyone from figuring out that he could no more control these students than he could sprout extra arms.

"Matt," he began. "I have allowed you to have the sunglasses of your choice since the day you came to Wammy's House. I allow you to wear them indoors, during meals and even in class. But please. Right now…" Matt's indifference was amazingly disheartening. Roger almost gave up midsentence and just stopped speaking. But then he had a different idea. He continued. "Right now, you are sitting in my office, having a one-on-one conversation with—" He lunged forward and snatched the glasses off of Matt's face.

Matt recoiled with an exclamation of surprise, and Roger felt a moment of triumph. At least he could get the better of one of his charges every once in awhile. That thought was immediately followed by a rush of shame as he realized what he had been reduced to.

Matt turned his face away from Roger, eyes downcast. "Why did you do that?" he asked. His voice was soft, but full of accusation. "I'm not allowed to take them off without his permission. I'm going to be in so much trouble, now."

Roger narrowed his eyes. The person Matt was talking about was obviously Mello, but there was something wrong. When kids fought, they said things like, "He's going to be so pissed off at me," or "He's going to kill me!" The phrases "get in trouble," and "I'm not allowed" were reserved for referring to teachers and staff members, people who were actually in a position of authority over the speaker. "How can you get in trouble with him?" Roger asked slowly. "He's your classmate. He can't discipline or punish you."

"He _can._" Matt's eyes met Roger's for only a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for him to see a flash of…something. Something _alive. _For an instant, he was anything but the dull stoic he had been up until now.

Then it was gone, and Roger was more baffled than ever. Neither Matt's words nor his behavior made any sense. He had gone back to staring fixedly at the floor.

He could give Near a run for his money in the arena of weird right now.

"Matt, look at me," commanded Roger.

Matt appeared to debate this internally for a moment before he shrugged and faced forward.

Roger froze.

He had a black eye.

He did a double take, so stunned he could hardly believe it. But he wasn't mistaken; Matt's left eye was bruised and swollen. How had that happened? Matt was Mello's _best friend. _Mello was an unstoppable terror of a bully these days—it was hard to believe that someone had punched Matt in the face and not found themselves in the infirmary within the hour.

Then Roger connected the words "discipline or punish" with the statement "He can." Things began falling into place, and he didn't like the picture it was forming at all. There was exactly one person in the House who could pick on Matt without fear of reprisal from Mello, and that was Mello himself.

When Roger spoke again, it was with extreme care. No longer was he trying to get around Matt's exasperating behavior. Now he needed to get vital information out of him, and he needed to get it before he shut down again.

"Why aren't you allowed to take your sunglasses off in front of people?"

"It's a rule. I'm not allowed to take them off unless he says so." A slight smile played about Matt's lips. "My eyes belong to him," he added, his voice taking on an unmistakable note of pride. "He says that."

Roger stared. There was no resentment in his demeanor, no fear or sadness or frustration. Just pride, pure and simple.

It was unnerving as hell.

There were more questions that needed to be asked, Roger reminded himself sternly. Gain information now; analyze and judge later. "How will Mello punish you for this?" he inquired, forcing his voice to remain dispassionate.

"I dunno." Matt shrugged flippantly, his tone almost cheerful. "Punch me, probably. He does that."

"Is there no way you can avert it?" Roger asked. Matt shook his head. "Then…perhaps you should not tell him."

"What?"

"Tell him you kept the glasses on the entire time. He won't know otherwise unless you or I inform him, and I assure you that I won't." Part of Roger's mind shouted that this was madness, the principal of a school full of geniuses urging one of his students to lie. And yet, he couldn't in good conscience tell Matt to speak the truth. It was so upside-down and backwards that he wondered wildly how things had ever managed to get this twisted.

Matt's mouth hung open slightly as he stared at Roger with glazed eyes. "I can't do that," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because," said Matt, staring at him like he was saying something strange and incomprehensible. "I'm not allowed to _lie_ to him."

Right. Of course. He probably should have guessed. Roger pursed his lips. He didn't know what it was with Matt. He had seen the boy's aptitude test scores. His IQ was through the roof. He held onto rank three in a school full of the world's brightest children without even applying himself. He could probably defeat the combined forces of Mello and Near if he ever put his mind to it. Yet at times he could act so incredibly _dull_. Right now Roger felt like he ought to be speaking to him in single-syllable word so as to avoid bewildering him.

His gaze moved back to Matt's bruised eye. "And what rule did you break in order to earn that?"

"I fell," said Matt. "I couldn't keep my balance anymore." He winced in remembered pain. "My legs were so cramped…and I fell."

Roger hesitated, and ultimately decided to let that one go. There were more important questions to ask. "How long has he been doing this?"

Matt blinked. "Like…forever," he said, staring at Roger in blank confusion. "Mello's always had a temper."

He didn't even understand which part Roger was asking about. He considered trying to explain, but concluded that it probably wasn't worth it. Instead, he studied the boy closely. He had been fixated on the left eye until now, but there were other details about his appearance that were off. His right eye had a dark circle underneath it almost worthy of L, and his hair was even more erratic than usual. His complexion was pale, almost ashen. He had gone from lanky to verging on painfully thin, his collarbones jutting sharply out of his chest. The bright green of his eyes seemed to have lost some of its metallic luster, and even his hair lacked its usual shine. He looked downright haggard.

This had been going on for some time. How had they missed it? How had _he, _Roger, missed it? But he knew the answer to that. Matt rarely drew attention to himself. The opposite, in fact; he was so disengaged that he hardly bothered to speak or act at all. He only caused problems if the staff tangled with him, and so for months now they had tacitly practiced a policy of leaving him well enough alone. Mello, in contrast, drew so _much _attention to himself with his constant acting up that Matt tended to fade into the background.

Roger, for his part, had been doing his best to avoidpaying attention to Matt for the simple reason that the redhead gave him the willies. Having the exact wrong reaction in every situation, trailing after Mello in the hallways like a ghost, doing his bidding when prompted—it was downright creepy.

Matt stared at him silently the entire time he was processing his thoughts. He didn't fidget even once during the whole awkward silence.

"Have you been sleeping?" Roger inquired.

"When he tells me to," answered Matt. He smiled far too brightly for Roger's liking.

"How often is that?"

"Sometimes," answered Matt. "Most nights I get to sleep some."

Roger closed his eyes briefly. No wonder his exam scores had been erratic. "Have you been eating?" Matt opened his mouth, and Roger quickly held up a hand and rephrased his question. "What I meant to ask was, when was the last time he told you to eat something?"

"Today," answered Matt. "This morning."

This _morning? _It was four o'clock in the afternoon. Roger asked his next question carefully. "When was the last time Mello hit you?"

Matt's disturbingly nonchalant expression finally showed a crack, and he looked away and started fidgeting with the loose thread again. "Today," he answered quietly. "I interrupted him when he was thinking."

Well, Roger had called him to this meeting to figure out what was behind the drop in his scores. And he certainly had.

What could the staff do? Mello ran roughshod over everyone and everything. Roger was completely at a loss as to how to go about correcting his behavior. The measures they had tried thus far were about as effective as building a picket fence in the path of an oncoming tornado. And it would be even harder this time, when the person getting picked on was ostensibly his best friend.

"Matt…" began Roger hesitantly. "I'm sorry. It must hurt you, getting hit by Mello."

Matt considered this. "Yeah, sometimes. He's pretty strong for his size."

Roger winced. "I wasn't just talking about your body. I meant your feelings."

"My feelings?" Matt blinked at him. "My feelings…are fine," he said slowly. "He says so."

"He can't tell you how you feel," said Roger gently.

Matt cocked his head at him. "Why not?"

"Because it's—well—it's how you feel. They're your feelings!" he spluttered. It was hardly an erudite response, but he didn't know how to give a good answer to that question. It was so basic, so fundamental that he'd never expected to have to explain it. Matt's skeptical expression informed him that he hadn't gotten the point across. He sighed. "Matt, if Mello didn't tell you that you were fine, how would you feel?"

Matt frowned. "You mean like…if Mello said that I was sad?"

"No, no," said Roger, trying to ignore the pang in his heart that that question produced. "If Mello didn't help you at all to figure out how you feel. If you decided all by yourself, how would you feel?"

Matt opened his mouth, then hesitated and closed it again, then repeated the entire sequence a second time before he actually spoke. "But why would I do that?" he demanded.

"Pretend that it was an exam, and you had to answer by yourself. Then how would you feel?"

Matt chewed on his lip. "I don't…I don't know…" He shrank into himself. "I don't know! Without him, I—" He looked up, and his eyes were wild, haunted. Roger was amazed at how open and expressive his features were today. His eyes alone conveyed volumes. Roger honestly hadn't known that Matt was capable of such feeling until now. It was like he had stripped off his entire outer persona with his sunglasses and revealed a completely different person.

Matt shook his head rapidly. "Without him I'd—" His face crumpled and he broke off in a sob. His hand immediately flew up to cover his mouth as his eyes widened in shock. "N—no—I don't—" Tears spilled down his cheeks, and he turned away from Roger and hid his face with his hands. "I don't know why I'm—crying—" He rubbed his right eye with one balled fist. "This is…really embarrassing…Mello's going to be furious…"

Roger stared at him helplessly as he hugged himself and sniffled and tried futilely to contain his tears. He wished Quillsh was here, he would know how to handle this. He had a true gift for working around the quirks of the brilliant, and he loved children. Those were two personality traits that Roger had long since stopped trying to convince himself that he possessed. He would much rather be adding to his collection of insects, which were beautiful and serene, predictable and undemanding. Quillsh was the man for this job. He wished he'd never let his old friend talk him into taking charge of the House. Times like this reminded him of the ugly truth of what they were doing here. Taking in gifted orphans, giving them a home and a comfortable life, educating them—it only sounded laudable from the outside. The reality was that the students at Wammy's House were put under enormous amounts of pressure. They were told from day one that they needed to measure up to the world-famous L, the most brilliant deductive mind of his generation. They crammed algebra down the throats of six year olds, calculus at nine, and the equivalent to a Cambridge Ph.D. degree in mathematics by age fourteen. Competition was cutthroat and constant, with children who didn't even know their classmate's real names being pitted fiercely against one another by the daily posting of exam scores. They were pushed to and beyond their limits time and time again, relentlessly, without mercy or reprieve.

The House records reflected it. In three and a half alphabets' worth of candidates, there had been three suicides, twelve nervous breakdowns and four proven instances of former House members becoming violent, psychopathic criminals. Attrition was steady at about 7% per year.

But Roger didn't need to consult records or statistics to know what this environment did to the children. He saw it every day—he _lived _it. He was reminded each time he saw Mello's smile, which had slowly transformed from an expression of carefree joy to a cruel, calculating smirk of manic rage. He was reminded each time he saw Near sitting by himself and playing with his toys, looking more like a robot than a human.

And now it was Matt that was reminding him. Barely fourteen years old, and he was being forced to cope with issues that destroyed many adults. He was scrubbing at his face and covering his mouth with one hand, trying to muffle his sobs. Roger felt like an impotent old fool just sitting there and watching him. Running this orphanage _always _left him feeling this way. The House was a runaway truck on a mountainside, and all he could do was continue stepping ineffectually on brakes that had long since blown out. It made him feel completely useless.

_No. _Roger shook himself. _Not this time. I won't just sit here like an idiot and watch him cry. _He stood next to Matt and hesitated for a moment, then leaned over awkwardly to put his arms around him.

And that was the end of Matt's faltering self-control. He burst into tears, his thin frame shaking with the force of the sobs that wracked him. He didn't cling to Roger, but he made no move to push him away either. Roger remained in his uncomfortable half-crouch and held Matt as he cried himself out.

A solid twenty minutes passed before the boy's tears started to slow. Roger's back was aching something awful, but he wasn't willing to let go of a child who was clearly in dire straits. Part of it was guilt, he knew, because he had had a hand in creating this situation. He remained there patiently until Matt's shuddered breaths returned almost to normal and he wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I d—don't know why I just did that," he murmured hollowly.

Roger was finally able to let go of him and kneel, bringing some relief to his protesting muscles. "You don't know why you cried?" he asked. Matt shook his head, and Roger gazed at him in bemusement. "Matt. You cried because you are sad."

Matt met his gaze with wide eyes. "I'm sad?" he repeated with genuine innocence. "Why am I sad?"

Roger closed his eyes briefly, and then reopened them. Fourteen years old. These children were so brilliant that it was easy to forget how young they were. "You're sad because of Mello," he said gently.

Matt's brows contracted slightly in a frown. Then he shook his head. "No…no, that doesn't make sense." The haunted expression hadn't left his features. "Mello's my best friend. He can't make me sad, that's impossible!"

"Matt…" Roger shook his head, momentarily overwhelmed by a feeling of sorrow that had nothing to do with his own circumstances. "It's _because _he's your best friend. It's normal for you to feel sad if he hurts you." He waited for Matt to react, but the redhead only shook his head in growing bewilderment. Roger's heart ached for him. "Oh…Matt…you may be academically brilliant, but you don't have any grasp at all over your own feelings, do you?"

"I don't?" Matt blinked thoughtfully, considering this assertion honestly. "That's…that's not true. I know how I feel. Mello sorts it out for me. I'm not sad!" He pinned Roger with an accusatory stare. "This is all your fault! You made me take those off—" He snatched his sunglasses from Roger's grip and clutched them tightly. "You made me cry! I don't—I don't do that!" He scooted to the far edge of his seat and watched Roger suspiciously, as if he expected him to attack. "You're the one making weird things happen. Mello and I are best friends. No one else in Wammy's House is friends the way we are!"

_Because "friends" isn't the proper term for what you two are,_ he thought silently. Aloud, he said,"Matt, listen. It's wrong for best friends to hurt each other."

"Yeah, well, we don't!" snapped Matt. "I never hit Mello! And he only does it to me if I break a rule, which I should know better than to do anyway, and if I'm really his best friend, I won't complain when I make him lose his temper! He says that, and—and that's how friends are!" He had hopped out of his seat in agitation. Roger held his hands up in his most placating gesture and tried to say something soothing, but Matt started backing away. "Don't you have any?" he demanded. "You're old, you should know this stuff by now!"

"Matt. Matt, okay. Okay." The boy stopped backing away, but still eyed him distrustfully. "Okay," said Roger one more time for good measure. He pulled his chair back behind his desk to give Matt some space and gestured to his seat. "Just…please sit down." Matt returned to the chair, very slowly and cautiously.

As he walked, Roger's brain began to belatedly process the things he had said during that outburst. The amount of _wrong _in Matt's statements was so high that Roger didn't even know how to begin discussing it with him. How had someone as young as Mello gotten so manipulative? It was almost too much. He wanted to give up in defeat, to accept that, like so much else that went on in the House, this thing would run its course outside of his control. He felt the weight of one more defeat at the hands of the Wammy's students settling on his shoulders.

Then some nearly-forgotten modicum of self respect reasserted itself, and he remembered that he was the headmaster of this House right now, and as such, it was his responsibility to handle this situation. He straightened his shoulders. "Matt, listen. That is not the way things should be. Mello shouldn't be taking out his temper on you. If he's truly your best friend, he should be nicer to you than he is to anyone else."

Matt had put his glasses back on, and his demeanor was once again cool and distant. He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked just the tiniest bit. "He is," he replied.

Roger couldn't stop staring. Gone was the vulnerable, lost little boy he had been only moments before. Now he was back to the aloof, withdrawn mystery he usually presented to the world. It was fascinating; it was like the mere act of putting on sunglasses had changed him into a completely different person.

"I'll try to be more consistent in classes. Can I go now?" He sounded utterly bored. "I have computer logic at five."

Roger consented. He didn't see any other choice. "But Matt," he added quickly. "You can come talk to me any time you want." The redhead managed the effect of staring at him blankly even through his mirrored sunglasses. "I mean—what I mean is, Matt…I want you to come back here and tell me the next time Mello hits you."

He immediately knew that had been the wrong thing to say as Matt jumped down from his chair and nodded distantly. "Sure," he answered in a voice that was anything but sincere.

_Stupid, _Roger thought, berating himself for at least the fifteenth time that day. _He won't betray Mello, his "best friend." Not to me. _Matt had turned and crossed half of the office before he managed to speak again. "Matt! Wait…"

The boy turned and faced his glasses towards Roger. He really was off-putting. He crammed so much ornery attitude into his small frame that it suggested anyone approaching him would save them both a lot of trouble if they just gave up and walked away. But Roger knew better than that now that had glimpsed a bit of what lay underneath. "I want you to come back here in a week. Same day, same time.

"Why?" Matt asked warily.

Roger smiled as genuinely as he could manage. "We're just going to talk again, that's all. All right? You're not in trouble."

Matt watched him for another several long seconds. Then he said, "Yeah…sure." He turned and left without another word.

Roger slouched forward on his desk and exhaled slowly. Part of him slumped in defeat, crushed under the weight of the responsibilities and troubles of this House. But the other half of his mind was racing, reeling from what he had seen. What was going on between those two? He had honestly believed that Matt was safe from Mello's depredations. Yes, he had driven Jury out of the House and put Near in the hospital, but Roger had still believed that Mello's friendship with Matt was pure.

Though "pure" was undoubtedly the wrong word to use. Mello and Matt were lovers, he was sure of it. What exactly that constituted for two boys was a bit of a fuzzy zone in his mind, but he had no desire to change that. They were lovers inasmuch as two young boys could be. His suspicions had crystallized into certainty on the day that the two of them had missed the beginning of his lecture on legal ethics and he had been forced to send Temper off to find them. Matt had come to class if Mello's clothes, and neither of them had been able to sit still for even five minutes. They were all giggles and furtive glances. All possibility of doubt had been banished by the end of that hour.

He had only recently managed to follow Quillsh's advice to simply accept that they were gay and not fret about it. Guilt prickled at Roger. He could have paid closer attention to them, perhaps even figured out that something was wrong. But instead, he had deliberately looked elsewhere because they made him uncomfortable. He had always been afraid that he might catch an intimate glance or a held hand or even a kiss. Now, left unchecked, the situation between them had devolved to its current state. Their relationship was deeply ill. Sick. Twisted.

Everyone on staff feared for Mello. They all spent a lot of energy worrying as he very publicly cracked under the pressure-cooker that was Wammy's House. It was common knowledge that he was the problem child of the current class. Nobody had bothered with Matt in ages, but now Roger could see what a grave error in judgment that had been. What was happening to Mello was happening to Matt, too. Mello passed it on to him directly; they were inextricably linked. It was possible that it was _Matt, _not Mello, who was the ultimate sink for all of the negative pressures in Wammy's House. Matt might not act out violently the way Mello did, but he was just as psychologically out of balance—if not more.

Roger steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. How in the world had Quillsh managed to do this job for so many years? And during the House's truly awful days, too! Quillsh had lived through Annabel's and Dorian's suicides, Greylian's meltdown that left four classmates in the emergency room, and Prethius's cold-blooded and calculated murder of Ophast. He had watched Beyond Birthday and Castor and Treiz go out into the world and commit violent, criminal acts. He had seen dozens of students crack and fall apart in the face of the demands placed on them here.

But those were during the House's early days. The educational system had since been modified so that they didn't destroy the very children they were trying to teach…or so went the party line. But Mello and Near—and now Matt, in Roger's mind—were the eternal question marks at the end of that sentence. Mello's determination to beat Near had turned into a compulsion, then an obsession. It consumed more and more of his being every day, and there was no end in sight. Near, meanwhile, had withdrawn completely into himself. He spent his days sitting alone in his favorite play room and winding his hair around his finger as he studied. His only company was the profusion of toys and puzzles he surrounded himself with. He hadn't braided a single strand of hair since his return from the hospital.

It bordered on heartbreaking. Near had been making so much progress when Mello and Matt had been his friends. He had socialized, and he had occasionally talked about subjects other than the puzzles that fascinated him so. He had even been showing signs of outgrowing the toys and dolls he had clung to for far longer than other children of his age. Roger had begun to think that he might be able to develop, albeit slowly, and one day lead a reasonably normal life.

But that was no more than a distant memory now. Near's path was set. He was the eternal child, wearing oversized pajamas and playing with finger puppets while his incredible mind steadily broke down the world's most complex mysteries. Roger wondered what it was like inside of Near's head. To have a brain that could calculate the fourth root of any number out to eight decimal places on the spot, yet was completely stumped by the task of interpreting a frown on someone's face—he couldn't imagine it. Near had a mind unlike any other. That had been apparent from the day he arrived, cadged by Watari at age four from an overwhelmed single mother.

Ironically, the very same qualities that had ultimately caused her to give Near up had once endeared him to her and others. Near used to be the rubix cube baby. He had been barely five months old when his mother accidentally left the colored block within his reach. Little Nate's fingers barely had the strength or the coordination to move the pieces, but nevertheless, he solved it.

His parents thought it was a fluke, until he repeated the feat time and time again. His fingers quickly grew nimble, soon he could finish the task in mere minutes. Other puzzles were soon added to his repertoire. Neighbors used to come over and watch him piece them together. Nate was proudly shown off to the world, eliciting amazed gasps everywhere he went.

Time passed, and the world turned. Difficulties started to appear. Nate wouldn't make eye contact with his parents. He pulled away or started crying when they tried to hug him. But most noticeably of all, he didn't speak. All of the other kids were using complete sentences, and he hadn't yet uttered a single word.

He was old enough to wield a pencil now, but he didn't draw his family or his house like the other children did. Near drew the Koch snowflake, the Hilbert curve, the Cantor set. He illustrated the Fibonacci sequence in geometrically perfect squares. His first crude sketch of the Mandelbrot set, done in crayon, was still on file in the Wammy's archive. He developed his own notation system to express what was in his mind. Roger had seen the papers. Pages and pages of strange markings broken by the occasional familiar shape, like a circle bisected by a diameter or a sequence of right triangles drawn to the proportions of Pythagorean triples. It always gave him the feeling that he was on the verge of comprehension, but in the end understanding eluded him, hovering just out of reach. Quillsh had managed to translate bits and pieces of it over the years, but much of it was beyond him. Roger didn't doubt that those pages contained mathematical truths that could alter humanity's understanding of the universe, but they would remain locked in Near's mysterious head forever.

Nate's parents didn't understand what he was doing anymore. There were problems in the marriage, exacerbated by the difficult child. Nate's father finally walked out.

His mother had shown up at Wammy's House, alone, desperate and at her wits' end. She had heard that this orphanage handled frighteningly smart children, and she didn't know what else to do. She was half convinced that her white-haired child was possessed by the devil.

Quillsh had welcomed her and listened to her story somberly. No mention was made of developmental disorders. The word "autism" was not so much as breathed. He quietly pushed the paperwork through on the very same day, and Near became his.

It took a year of intense tutoring with a special therapist before Near could speak well enough to communicate. He possessed no innate language skills. He learned to talk through sheer power of intellect alone.

Then he was thrust into the regular House routine with no special dispensations made. Since his legs were weak, he spent most of his time in the play rooms and study rooms on the first floor. Staff members took turns carrying him up and down the stairs first thing in the morning and before bed. No one wanted to challenge his stubborn dislike of getting dressed, so he remained in pajamas all day. Nobody wanted to get stuck with the uncomfortable and time-consuming task of bathing him, and so he often went without. Plans were in the works to hire someone to help take care of him, but they somehow never materialized into reality. It was difficult to bring new people into Wammy's House. Employees had to be thoroughly background checked, and had to sign contracts and non-disclosure agreements. Every step of the process faced bureaucratic red tape and had to be approved by both Watari and L. It kept getting pushed back further and further. The speech therapist declared this cruel neglect of a child who clearly had special needs, and walked out.

So Near persisted in getting along the best he could with what assistance people offered him. Mello had assisted for awhile, back when the two boys had still been friends. He had carried Near from place to place, fed him, and even helped him shower and wash his hair. Roger winced at that memory. He had looked the other way because he didn't want to do it himself. He had told himself that it was innocent; Mello was only ten years old. But if he had known then what he knew about Mello now—

--but that was no excuse. One young boy bathing another? It was wildly inappropriate. By allowing it to happen unchallenged, Roger had given it his tacit approval. In retrospect, he was ashamed of the part he had played in letting it continue. Twisted, unhealthy situations like that could only exist in an environment as isolated as this one.

Social services would probably be interested in what went on here. Roger was almost certain that Quillsh had some special arrangement worked out with them so that they didn't sniff around too much. Otherwise, the number of deaths and serious injuries that Wammy's House sustained each year would have attracted their attention long ago. He shuddered to think what would happen if they ever did choose to investigate Wammy's. Mello's antics alone would probably be enough for them to shut the whole place down.

Looking at him now, it was hard to believe that he had once been the most well-adjusted orphan who had ever graced the halls of Wammy's House. He had been a joyful, charming, friendly little boy, always bubbling with energy and quick to laugh. He had been dangerously likeable, actually—or so the nuns at his previous orphanage believed. Roger had met with two of them when the boy was being relocated. It seemed that Mihael had been friends with everyone at their institution, and many idolized him for his genius. Roger had gathered by reading between the lines that his transfer had as much to do with a certain tendency on Mihael's part to end up with painted nails or girls' panties in his hamper as it did with any inability on the nuns' part to educate a mind of his caliber. The head nuns had decided that their institution—"Which is, after all, in the house of God," one of them had reminded him primly—was not the proper place for someone like Mello to hold that kind of influence over his peers.

Mello had been an instant hit at Wammy's. He had cracked through even Matt's and Near's tough exteriors. For the first year or two, he had been a moderating, normalizing influence on a student body that consisted largely of…well, to put a fine point on it, neurotic genius children with troubled pasts. But the falling-out with Near had changed him. Mello felt the pressure of being Successor more than anyone else. Part of it was because of his personality; he couldn't stand to be edged out of the spotlight. He was a diva.

But part of it was because he was M. There was a certain mystique about the letter M in Wammy's House. It followed L. People believed, on some deep level, that the true Successor of L _had _to be M. It was pure superstition, and every one of them knew better, but they couldn't quite shake the notion. Students whispered that Mello should be solidly ahead of Near because M preceded N. They said that he was failing in his duty because he wasn't. Matt had always responded to that pressure by disengaging and ignoring it, but it ate at Mello.

It made Roger regret the whim that had started the alphabet game. L's single-letter name was remarkable enough in and of itself, but then it just so happened that the first three potential successors were Amy, Brian and Caitlin. The alphabet had taken root before any of them thought twice.

Perhaps ironically, all three of those initial students had come to terrible ends. Annabel had slit her wrists after listening to Beyond Birthday whisper for two years that she would die on that very day. Roger had suspected foul play, and had become certain of when B went on his murdering spree in L.A, but there had never been any forensic evidence to back that up. And Cethe…the last he had heard, she could function on her own as long as she kept taking her medication.

Those had been primarily Watari's battles to fight. Roger, a mere teacher at the time, had just assisted. It was only in the past year that he had finally begun to appreciate what his friend had really gone through while dealing with it. Mello was by far the worst discipline problem that Roger had had to face. Calling him by his first name was only the tip of the iceberg; Mello had all of the students intimidated into doing his bidding. The staff didn't know details. Those who crossed him had an alarming tendency to blame their black eyes and bloody noses on tripping into door knobs or banisters.

And that was what raised the most questions in Roger's mind. Mello knew, just as they all did, what Wammy's House alumni had gone on to do. They were high-ranking politicians, diplomats, successful entrepreneurs, inventors, some of the most important movers and shakers of today's world. Even those that never had a prayer of becoming Successor were still highly intelligent individuals with world-class educations under their belts by graduation. Mello was too bright not to realize that his current classmates would someday be either a great help or a great hindrance to him as L, assuming he inherited the title. And yet, despite that, he continued to bully and terrorize his peers. It was reckless and illogical.

Roger shook his head wearily. It _must _make sense, in some strange way or another, because Mello wasn't stupid. He closed his eyes and tried to apply the kind of deductive reasoning that the students were taught here each day to the situation. One possibility was that Mello didn't understand the consequences of his actions, but given his intellect, it seemed unlikely. A second option was that Mello got such a rush out of seeing his peers cringe away from his glare and trip over themselves to appease his ire that it was worth the price of losing the help they would be able to provide him in the future. If that were the case, what did it say about him? Following in L's footsteps was ostensibly Mello's greatest desire, Roger had heard him say as much many a time. So what kind of person was he, truly, if inspiring fear was more important to him than having the tools to become a successful L in the future?

Perhaps he was the type of person who gave his best friend twin black eyes and then claimed it was said friend's fault for "making" him lose his temper.

Roger reached into his desk drawer and pulled out his favorite specimen, a six-centimeter _Dinastes tityus _enclosed in a class case. It always calmed him, and so he kept it here despite his fears that one of the students would discover his hobby and mock him for it. Things like that got said by middle-aged drunks to the women they'd been beating for a decade, not by one barely-pubescent schoolboy to another. Mello did things that boggled the mind. Roger couldn't get a bead on whether the boy comprehended the things he was doing or not. Did he calculate how many times he could hit Matt and get away with it, and what he would have to say to keep his "friend" from getting angry with him? Or was it reflexive, something out of Mello's control, a deep instinct toward violence that skipped the conscious mind entirely when expressing itself?

Either way, that Mello didn't modify his behavior in a manner that would clearly help him in the future suggested to Roger that something was…wrong. Mello's insight into the people around him was virtually unmatched, but he seemed unable to objectively weigh and judge his own actions. He had very little self-control. It got Roger wondering if it was possible for a person to be mad while still retaining all of his deductive reasoning faculties.

Roger chewed at his lip. What should he do? He was out of ideas. He didn't want to ask other staff members for fear that they would figure out that this House had jumped the tracks long ago. He didn't want to look like an incompetent old fool. What he needed was more authority. There were exactly two people that could give that to him, but thus far they had disappointed him in that regard. The last time he had asked for their help had been while Near was in the hospital. When L learned of the situation, he had said, "It is worth taking into consideration how easily Near was overcome." That he seemed to see eye-to-eye with Mello had been galling. "Tell him that he cannot win by murdering his competition," L had instructed him. "He will be disqualified if he does so." Roger had passed on those words, but they did little to reassure him. He wasn't convinced that Mello would recall such threats during a moment of overwhelming rage, and removing him from the Succession wouldn't bring Near back to life.

It made Roger wonder. How much of this had L seen, back then when he made the prediction of ultimate enmity between Mello and Near? Had he seen Mello's terrifying plummet from the roof? Did his mind's eye show him Near in the emergency room, bloodied and broken? Had he known that Mello would wind up this unhinged? What about Matt, had he realized that the redhead would be sucked into it as well? Was all of this just playing out according to what he had expected from the very beginning?

Then, abruptly, facts slid together in Roger's mind, and a third rationale behind Mello's behavior occurred to him. Yes, the blonde had alienated many of his peers—but he still got what he wanted from them. They were too scared to defy him. Perhaps he simply intended to continue getting his way through intimidation. After all, it had certainly worked well for him up to this point. Mello didn't follow the rules inside of Wammy's House; what was there to suggest that he would once he was out?

And that was when Roger realized it. Things were just as bad as they had been during the days of Beyond Birthday. Mello behaved just as terribly as Prethius ever had, and Annabel had nothing on Matt when it came to unbalanced behavior. Roger's calming mantra, that at least things were better than they had been in the House's really bad days, was a complete fiction. The rivalry between Mello and Near would spill out of Wammy's House, just as such things had in the past. It would be played out on the world stage, where the lives of countless innocent individuals would be pulled into the balance. Things had already reached that point; there was absolutely nothing Roger could do to stop it.

He wanted to disbelieve it, but he couldn't. The certainty settled into the pit of his stomach like a stone. He would make that prediction with one hundred percent confidence.

His hands were shaking as he turned to his computer and began composing an email to Watari.


	26. Chapter 26

"Are you reading?"

"Yes," lied Matt. The truth was that he couldn't even see the book from this angle. They used to sit side-by-side in this armchair, but sometime in the past year they had outgrown that. Today they had piled into it in the only way they still fit, which meant that Mello was sitting in Matt's lap.

He tightened his arms around Mello's waist, and his friend snuggled against him without taking his eyes off the page. He tried to wait patiently, but boredom was setting in fast. Matt slipped a hand inside of Mello's top and up his side.

Mello jerked. "Matt! That tickles!"

"Not my fault you're ticklish everywhere," retorted Matt with a grin.

"Well, it's not mine, either." Mello smacked Matt's hand through the material of his shirt until he removed it. "Quit that." He shifted positions so that he could put one arm around Matt's shoulders and hold the book where they could both see it. He rested his head against Matt's. "Read," he instructed.

Obediently, Matt eyed the book. He continued to do so for almost a full five minutes before he started getting antsy again. He tilted his head so that he could kiss Mello's neck.

"Mmh." Mello brushed his fingers absently through his hair. Matt shifted so that he could tongue Mello's ear, and the blonde giggled. "You're _trying _to distract me."

"Yes," agreed Matt with an unabashed grin.

Mello shifted again, and abruptly he was kissing Matt. Delighted at his success, Matt responded eagerly. Mello straightened and smiled at him affectionately. "This was the worst studying idea ever," he laughed, touching his cheek lightly. "I'm going to kiss you one more time, and then I'm going to go study in my room."

"Aww," said Matt in disappointment. But he was happy to kiss Mello again.

Suddenly Mello pulled away. "Hey! We're using this room. Get lost!"

Matt froze in embarrassment. Then he wriggled halfway around, impeded by Mello's awkward bulk on top of him, and saw Near leaning against the doorway to the play room. He sighed. This was a semi-regular occurrence. Near would wander into the room they were studying in, and Mello would yell at him to go away. Near never listened. He would shrug off Mello's outburst and say something along the lines of, "I have as much right to use this space as Mello does," and proceed to make himself comfortable. It infuriated Mello. He would usually grab Matt and stomp out, fuming.

But today, for some reason, Near didn't retort, nor did he sit down and begin playing with his toys. He just stood there, staring at the table off to his left and twirling his hair around his index finger. The silence lengthened; even Mello was left at a loss. Then Near turned around and shuffled away.

"Hmm," muttered Mello in surprise. Then he shrugged and turned his attention back to Matt. "Where were we?" He leaned in and grinned. "Oh yeah."

Mello held to his decision to go study in his room after that, unfortunately. Matt was left on his own for the afternoon. He stayed in the chair and played his game for awhile, but the incident with Near kept bothering him. Why had he left when Mello asked him to today? It was the first time he had ever done that. Matt didn't think that Mello had been any more commanding today than he usually was. What had been different?

It wasn't until the middle of the next morning that everything clicked into place and he suddenly had the answer. The factor that had been different the previous day was that Near had caught them _kissing._

Matt stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the hallway, rooted to the spot in shock. Could it be…? Why _was_ Near trying to study where they were so often, anyway? There were plenty of play rooms and study rooms; there was no need for him to squabble with Mello over space. Matt had always assumed that it was due to obstinacy on Near's part, but now another possibility loomed hugely in his mind.

"Oh my god," he said. "No way!"

"What?" Daniel was standing in the hall, staring at him nervously and clutching a pile of textbooks against his chest.

Matt hadn't even noticed his presence. He realized belatedly that he'd spoken out loud. "I wasn't talking to you," he said gruffly.

"Oh—okay. Right." Daniel scurried off in the other direction, relieved to be free of him.

It could be true. It was easy to forget it because of how young he looked, but Near _was _twelve; only a few months shy of thirteen, actually. He was old enough. Mello and Matt had already more or less figured out how their dicks worked by that age. It went without saying that they had already liked each other a lot by that age. Maybe Near—

Matt shook his head and started walking down the hall quickly. Surely not. It was unimaginable that Near could like Mello in the same way he did. Matt couldn't even wrap his head around the idea of Near touching himself. Near was just too…different. But he and Mello had once been good friends and inseparable study partners, a recollection which still produced a pang of jealousy within Matt. As far as Matt knew, Mello was the only person that had ever been able to help Near solve his beloved puzzles. So maybe, in his own strange Near fashion, he _did _like Mello.

Matt tried to review Near's recent behavior in his mind to see if he could spot any support for his hypothesis, or evidence against it. He came up blank. He couldn't really remember how Near had been acting lately. He realized with some surprise that he hadn't been paying much attention to Near. In fact, he had barely spent any time at all with the white-haired boy since his return from the hospital.

Guilt washed over Matt. Near was always alone. Mello and Matt had been his only two friends—the only two friends he had _ever _had, to Matt's knowledge. And now Mello had started hating him, and Matt had been so wrapped up in Mello and the things they could do together that he'd almost literally forgotten that Near even existed. He saw him at least eight times a day in class, but he hadn't _thought_ about him once.

And now, on top of all that, Near had been forced to see them _kiss_.

Matt searched out the younger boy during his first break from classes. He found him sitting on the floor of one of the play rooms with a big stuffed bunny. He was part way through assembling a three-dimensional puzzle of a castle. Matt crossed the room to stand next to him. Near didn't react to his presence in any way. For a long moment, Matt couldn't think of anything to say, so he just stood there awkwardly.

"Um…" he finally began. "Hi, Near."

"Hello." Monotone voice, no inflection whatsoever.

"How are you doing?" The moment the words left his lips, Matt felt ridiculous. Here he was, trying to make ice-breaking small talk with the most direct person he'd ever met, while the real issue loomed hugely over their heads.

"I am fine." No ice was broken. If anything, the atmosphere got a few degrees chillier.

Matt tried in vain to think of something conversational to say next. What could he talk about? Near's ranking? The recent history exam? It occurred to Matt that he didn't really know how to talk to the pajama-clad boy, despite having known him for eight years. It made him feel somehow ashamed. "Er…how's the puzzle? Fun?"

"It is challenging," replied Near, slotting a piece into place.

"Do you want help?" Matt instantly regretted those words. He could aid Near with a complicated puzzle just about as well as Near could help him beat the final boss in one of his games.

"No," said Near. His eyes never left the structure in front of him.

At a loss for what else to say, Matt opted for an old favorite. He sat down back to back with Near.

He expected to feel Near's hand winding through his hair. He expected the younger boy to settle back against him comfortably. Instead, Near scooted away from him so quickly that he nearly tipped over backwards.

Matt scrambled to his hands and knees and stared at the other boy in astonishment. Near had assumed almost the same position he had been in before, but a quarter of the way around the castle. "H—hey!" exclaimed Matt in surprise. He received no response. "Near…don't you want to braid my hair?" he asked in bewilderment.

"No," answered Near coldly. "I am not interested in you. You lack the motivation to be a useful study partner, and you do not possess the intellectual depth to aid me in assembling puzzles. You were removed from the Succession because you are lazy, and yet you didn't learn a lesson from this. I stand to gain nothing from associating with you. You are useless."

The words hit him hard, hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Matt was speechless. Suddenly he understood much more clearly why Mello took Near's harsh words to heart so strongly. Calling him lazy was one thing, but calling him _useless—_not just to study with, but as a _person—_that was a whole different story. It hurt.

Near spoke again, and this time his tone was full of accusation. "Matt is a bad influence on Mello. Matt saps his time and attention. He would be real competition for me if it were not for Matt." He clutched his bunny tightly against his chest. "Matt's presence is counterproductive. If only Matt did not exist, Mello would still study with _me_."

Matt stared at him open-mouthed, torn between many different responses. None of them won out over the others. He got numbly to his feet and stumbled away.


	27. Chapter 27

Math was boring. The desk chair was uncomfortable. He had a headache and his growling stomach was making it hard to concentrate. Matt would have much rather been flopped across one of the library's overstuffed armchairs with his game. But the material covered in class had been going over his head lately, and Mello had been so insufferably smug about his plummeting test scores that he'd finally bitten the bullet and started studying. Roger's constant nagging didn't help either. He heaved a sigh. If he was lucky, maybe he could have this figured out before dinner.

The cracking sound of a textbook hitting the floor made him jump. He swiveled to find Mello watching him from the bed, his books scattered messily across the ground. "Done!" he declared. A coy smile tugged at his lips. "What should we do now?"

Matt grinned, thoroughly ready for a break. "Whatever you want, Mel."

The blonde jumped off the bed and pulled his shirt over his head. The afternoon sunlight slanting through the blinds struck him side-on, picking out the contours of his stomach and chest in detail. Matt found the sight captivating. It took him several seconds to realize that Mello had finished tossing the shirt aside and was now watching him stare blatantly. He quickly averted his gaze, then looked sheepishly at his friend's face.

Mello's lips were curved into a slight smirk. He slipped his pants downwards with deliberate slowness and paused when they were halfway off of his hips. He tilted his head to the side, looking at Matt through half-lidded eyes. Matt's gaze was glued to him, and his heart was starting to thud heavily in his chest. Mello giggled at his reaction. He did a half spin and arched, turning his head so that Matt could see his face in profile. Then he let his pants drop to the floor with a soft hiss. He hopped onto the bed and lay back slowly, spreading his hair prettily about his head. He smiled invitingly.

Matt couldn't move. All he could do was stare at the sight of Mello's bare form. He was incredibly pretty, with his slender limbs and pale skin and golden hair. None of the girls could even dream of comparing to him. Matt knew he was wildly lucky to be the one person that was allowed to touch him.

Mello ran his fingers over his stomach and giggled again. "Are you going to come touch me?" he asked. "Or just stare?"

"Touch," answered Matt hoarsely. He shed his own clothing as quickly as he could and dashed across the room. Mello's eyes widened as he realized what Matt intended. He curled up protectively just before Matt took a flying leap at him. He tackled Mello and shoved his hands in between his arms and body to tickle him. Mello gasped and fought back, and they wrestled, rolling over one another across the bed. Matt wasn't quite sure when it changed from tickle torture to something else. Mello stopped fighting him as hard and his bouts of laughter gradually transformed into softer sounds. He pressed back against Matt, and Matt molded his body to the blonde's shape, wrapping his arms around his waist. Mello took hold of the hand attached to the arm trapped underneath his body and clasped it against his chest. Matt ran his free hand down Mello's side to his hip, then over his stomach. Mello stiffened and his back arched so suddenly that his head nearly cracked into Matt's nose.

"Hey!" Matt exclaimed, jerking his face up and out of the way.

"Sorry!" exclaimed Mello. "It just—it felt good."

Matt rested his head atop Mello's, where it would be out of harm's way. He caressed Mello's body lightly, and the blonde sighed happily. "Oh, Matty. Naked touching feels great, doesn't it?"

"Yeah…" agreed Matt a trifle uncertainly. "But I can't kiss you from here."

Mello gave a breathy laugh. "You can. Just not on my lips."

Matt took the hint and kissed him just behind his ear. Mello's breath caught and his skin broke out in goosebumps, so Matt knew he was going in the right direction. He started using his tongue on Mello's ear, and the blonde panted gratifyingly. He ran his fingertips down Mello's arm, then along the backs of his thighs.

That prompted an immediate reaction. Mello gasped and stiffened. "Oh, that—that feels really nice," he breathed.

"This?" Matt switched to spider fingers and went from his knee almost up to his butt.

Mello arched so energetically that Matt had to tighten his other arm to keep his friend from rolling away. "Yes, that!"

Matt laughed in delight. Mello could be very responsive when he was in the right mood. Matt had thought about it and concluded that it was because he was so ticklish. He just felt everything intensely. Strangely, though, Matt hardly ever tickled him by mistake when he was trying to make him feel good, even though the touches weren't that different. He hadn't worked out why that was yet.

He pressed his fingers in between Mello's thighs, touching lightly, and felt him jerk in response. He moved his hand up higher, nearly to his crotch. Mello vibrated with tension, panting. For a few seconds they were perfectly connected, each of Matt's tiniest movements producing a reaction magnified throughout Mello's entire body.

"Mmh—Matty!" Mello squirmed against him. It made his butt rub up against his hard dick and it felt good, even though it was a pretty weird way to touch. Matt moved his hips against his friend a little bit and Mello giggled. He could tell what Matt was up to. Matt moved his hand from Mello's thighs to his dick and brushed it lightly. He was about to move elsewhere, but Mello grabbed his wrist and held it in place. "Don't fucking stop," he growled. "Do it now!"

Slightly taken aback, Matt kept his hand where it was. He had planned on waiting until Mello relinquished his right hand before he got to this part, but he wasn't going to argue with what Mello wanted. He took hold of Mello's dick and started stroking rhythmically. Mello squealed and stiffened against him. It felt a little bit awkward with his left hand. He adjusted his motions carefully to what made Mello react the most. He knew exactly when he had found the right touch, because Mello moaned aloud and wrapped his fingers around Matt's fist. Matt kept it up until Mello writhed and spurted, getting semen all over the bed and both of their hands.

Mello laughed in exhilaration. "Matty!" he gasped. "That was awesome!" He released Matt's hands and wriggled onto his back, panting to catch his breath. Matt's right arm had fallen completely asleep. He flexed and relaxed his fist a few times as he waited impatiently for his friend to recover. His dick had started leaking semen when Mello's body was rubbing against his, and now he couldn't wait to be touched. But Mello would get annoyed if he rushed him, so he kept his mouth shut and feigned patience.

At last, Mello pushed at his chest. Matt eagerly rolled onto his back and let Mello climb on top of him. The blonde started kissing his chest and running his hands lightly over his ribs, and Matt realized immediately that he had made a tactical error. Now that Mello had already spurted, there was no incentive for him to move fast.

He groaned. Mello cocked his head at him curiously. "What?"

"Nothing," he answered quickly. Complaining would only make it worse.

"Matty…" Mello's gaze had turned speculative, and now a coy smile played about his lips. "You like it when I kiss you, right?"

"What? Yes, of course I do!"

"And you like it when I use my tongue on you, right?"

Matt was distantly aware on some level that this was leading to mischief, and that he was walking right into it. But he couldn't see the destination, and his mind was far from clear. "Yes!"

"Don't you like it when I touch your dick?"

"Yes!" It was practically a whimper.

"Then close your eyes."

Matt stared at him distrustfully, but Mello radiated innocence. "Okay," he agreed uncomfortably. He pressed his eyes shut tightly.

For a long, pregnant moment nothing happened. There was just the impression of Mello shifting above him. Then something warm and soft touched his dick, starting at the bottom and moving up towards the tip. It felt different than Mello's hand usually did. It was only touching one side, not wrapped all the way around it. Matt was still trying to work out what it was when it reached the tip and changed. Now it was surrounding the top part of his dick on all sides. It was hot, far hotter than a hand. "Mel—oh god!" The sensation was incredible. Mello was finding the most sensitive places with a precision that made him fear that he wouldn't be able to wait for his friend's permission before he spurted. He shivered with pleasure. Whatever Mello was using was slick, hot, slipping easily against his skin—

His eyes flew open and he exclaimed in inarticulate horror when he realized what Mello was up to. Mello danced back, grinning from ear to ear. He bit his lip, cheeks flushed in an uncharacteristic moment of shyness. "I kissed it," he said in a hushed voice.

"Ew! I can't believe you just did that!" exclaimed Matt, sitting up and curling around himself protectively. "I'm never kissing you again! Stay away from me, you sick freak!"

Mello giggled and licked his lips clean. "Yours tastes different than mine."

Matt's righteous indignation was completely derailed for a moment as he realized that this meant that Mello had _tasted his own semen_ _before_. Then he recovered himself. He was incensed that Mello had tricked him into allowing that to happen. The blonde had been asking to do it for a few weeks now, but of course Matt had always stopped him because it was just so _gross. _"How could you do that?" he demanded.

Mello put his hands on his hips and pouted. "Because if you like getting kissed and licked, and you like having your dick touched, then it makes sense that you would like having your dick kissed and licked." He nodded firmly. "It's just logical. And besides, you _did _like it!" He grinned slyly and leaned in close to whisper in Matt's ear. "You should have heard the sounds you made."

"Shut up!" Matt shoved his friend away roughly. "Can you—can you even imagine what would have happened if I had spurted by accident?" he spluttered. His track record was far from perfect on that score. Sometimes he just couldn't help it. "It would have gotten, like, all over your _face _or something!" He fell silent, too scandalized by that mental image to continue.

Mello laughed unrepentantly. He wrinkled his nose, but he seemed largely unfazed. "I can wipe off my face. It's not the end of the world."

Matt turned and cast him a horrified glare. He couldn't believe that Mello was talking about it as if it were no big deal. He was willing to bet that if it had actually happened, Mello would be concocting a punishment for him that would make all of The Rules that he had obeyed thus far look like a walk in the park by comparison. "That is not true!" he insisted. "Can you imagine how nasty it would be to have that stuff in your hair?"

At least Mello paused briefly as he considered this. Then he shrugged. "I can wash my hair, too." Matt rolled his eyes in disgust and turned away from him. A moment later, he felt Mello's arms around his shoulders. "You didn't spurt yet. Don't you still want to?" Matt glanced at him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye, but didn't speak. "Okay okay, I won't use my mouth on you anymore. I promise. Geeze."

Matt considered staying mad, but he really did want to feel good. "Okay." He uncurled slightly. Mello took hold of his shoulders and pushed them down onto the bed. He rearranged Matt's limbs so that they were lying flat as well, then straddled his thighs. He reached out and ran his fingers lightly over his dick. It had softened slightly while they bickered, but it got hard again instantly at Mello's touch. Matt twitched in anticipation.

"Matty." He glanced up to find Mello staring at his face intently. "Are we best friends?"

"What? Of course we are!" exclaimed Matt. He moved his hips a little so that Mello would get the hint to start touching him more.

Unfortunately, Mello was having none of it. He pulled his hand back and smiled slyly. "Prove it."

Matt's heart sank as his hopes of being able to spurt soon were dashed. The game was obvious; he didn't get to feel good until he had satisfactorily demonstrated his loyalty. "Okay," he said, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "How should I prove it?"

"You think of a way," Mello told him.

Matt closed his eyes to hide his disappointment. This wasn't going to be an easy game. Mello started using his index finger to rub the very tip of his dick. Matt thought furiously, but he couldn't think of a good way to show that they were best friends. The moment stretched, and Matt started to get flustered. That single digit was too distracting; it might actually have been better if Mello just stopped touching him entirely. "I…I don't know!" he finally exclaimed. "Making you spurt whenever you want to isn't enough to prove it?"

Mello's eyes narrowed dangerously and his finger stopped moving. "You can't think of anything?"

"I don't know!" Matt said in frustration. "Can't you just tell me what you want me to do?"

"Hmm." Mello tilted his head and made a show of considering his request. "Would you do anything I tell you to?"

Matt stopped himself on the verge of blindly agreeing. "Anything" was an awfully broad term, and saying yes to open-ended requests like this one had gotten him into trouble in the past. He tried to seriously consider the most extreme things Mello might ask of him and weigh them against the pain he would incur by saying "no" now.

The fist that cracked into his jaw caught him completely by surprise. He flopped halfway over and lay there, stunned. His face tingled with pain. That had been a closed-fist punch, not a mere slap.

Mello's hands came down on the bed on either side of him, making him cringe. "That was the wrong answer," he said icily. "The right answer was "yes.""

"Yes!" said Matt quickly.

Mello grabbed his shoulders and pushed him onto his back again. Matt gasped, but fell silent when Mello's eyes caught his. He was pinned by that gaze just as much as by Mello's bulk on top of him. "Would you do anything I tell you to?" Mello asked again.

"Yes, yes! Anything!" exclaimed Matt as fast as he could speak. Mello nodded and rewarded him by giving his dick a squeeze. He squirmed. He really needed to spurt. "What do you want me to do?"

"Hmm. Would you beat Near up for me if I asked you to?"

"What?" gasped Matt. "Now?"

"No, stupid." Mello's tone contained a hint of impatience and his hand moved against Matt too slowly, too lightly. "We're speaking hypothetically. _If _I asked you to do it, would you?"

Matt tried to picture himself hitting Near, smashing his fist into that frail body. It felt very wrong in his mind; even harboring the thought sent a stab of guilt through him. But if Mello gave that order…he shuddered as the blonde's hand momentarily left his dick entirely. "Yes, yes!" he exclaimed. "I'd do it, okay? I would!"

"Would you go without eating for ten days so that I would touch you like this?"

That was an easier question. A ten-day fast was far from fatal. He couldn't really see what bearing it had on Mello touching him, but he didn't need to hesitate. "Yes!"

Mello smiled. "Would you give up video games for me?"

His free hand was tracing Matt's body, making him shiver convulsively. His piercing blue eyes held him hostage. Matt felt himself slipping into his thrall and he welcomed it, abandoning his mind to Mello's overwhelming power, his body to teasing, mounting pleasure. What was a video game compared to this? Nothing. "Yes," he breathed.

Mello cupped Matt's balls in his hand and started squeezing them lightly, sending tingly waves of sensation through him. "Would you cut yourself open and let me see your insides?"

The question caught Matt off guard. "Wh—what? Yes! But…why would you want that?"

Mello beamed down at him. "Because you're mine. So you could make a blood promise to be mine forever." His hand tightened just enough to send a twinge of fear through Matt. "Would you?"

"Yes," panted Matt. "I would prove I'm yours forever! Yours forever," he repeated, and the words tasted deliciously sweet on his tongue. "I would! Mel—Mel, I need to spurt!" he begged, unable to hold the words back any longer. "I _need _to!"

"Not yet," said Mello firmly.

Matt whimpered miserably. It occurred to him that this was by far the longest he had ever maintained an erection. He didn't know how much more he could handle. "But—but—I can't take it! I think my dick is going to fall off or something! Mel—"

The blonde silenced him with a finger against his lips. "Soon," he promised. "But not yet."

Matt took a deep breath and did his best to comply. It would be disastrous if he couldn't hang on now, when he was in the midst of attempting to demonstrate his friendship to Mello. He would just have to find a way to hold back until he had his friend's permission.

Mello brought his free hand to Matt's chest and caressed him lightly. Matt practically purred with pleasure, but suddenly Mello's fingernails dug into his skin. He gasped and jerked, but the blonde didn't loosen his grip. "Would you let me hurt you?" Mello breathed into his ear.

Matt arched, his whole body vibrating with tension like a bowstring. He was caught between the two disparate sensations, unable to decide which one took precedence. "Ah—aah—Mel—"

"Would you?" insisted Mello.

The things that his body was doing were incredibly confusing. It took every shred of his self-control not to ejaculate right then, even though Mello wasn't even touching his dick, even though Mello was _hurting_ him. "I—I—okay yes! Yes I would!" he yelped.

Mello raked his nails down Matt's stomach to his hips, making him squeak in pain. But he quickly quelled that response. It was all right. He understood. He was proving himself to Mello, and knowing that made him tingle with pleasure all over despite the pain. Mello repeated the clawing again, then a third time, and each repetition made Matt a little more worked up by the bewildering mix of sensations. After a minute he couldn't tell them apart anymore, the pain from his torso and the pleasure at his crotch and the special warmth that came directly from his mind at knowing he was Mello's. He thought Mello's nails felt great and maybe the pain was coming from his crotch, or from his mind, or maybe there wasn't any pain at all and all of it felt good.

Then Mello stopped touching him. He experienced a moment of acute disappointment at the sudden lack of sensation, a feeling so intense that it drove the breath right out of his lungs. Without thinking, desperate for relief, he reached down.

"I said no!" Mello grabbed Matt's wrists and scooted forward so that he was sitting on his stomach. It made it impossible for him to get to the part he so desperately wanted to touch. He made an inarticulate sound of frustration and clenched his fists.

Mello cocked his head at him. "Shut up," he said. "I said soon, but not yet."

Matt closed his mouth immediately. He gazed up at his friend unhappily; now he couldn't ask to spurt in words. He tried to convey the message with his eyes, but Mello seemed oblivious to it.

"You're still loud," said Mello. "You're panting. I can hear it." He rested his fingers atop Matt's lips. "Be quiet."

The hand over his mouth was far too gentle to stop his breathing, but the suggestion of what he should do was more than enough. It was clear that the only way he was going to manage perfect silence was by holding his breath. He sucked in one final lungful of air and then stilled his chest.

He waited, staring into Mello's commanding gaze. Mello was watching him, measuring him, evaluating him. It was a test. He simply had to hold on until he had proven himself to Mello's satisfaction. It was quite peaceful, somehow, lying perfectly still and watching his friend's perfect face. The world was very simple, just himself and his best friend and a single, well-defined, straightforward goal ahead of him. Matt waited calmly.

His lungs began to burn and his vision darkened around the edges, but he didn't flinch. This was part of the test. He had to master his body's urges, just like he always overcame his need to spurt, in order to demonstrate that he was worthy of being Mello's best friend. His will had to be stronger than his animal needs. He gritted his teeth and faced the task head-on. The world narrowed until it included just himself and the goal. Everything was riding on this. The sole purpose of his existence was to meet this challenge. Mello had commanded it, and now he felt Mello's power washing over him and through him, forcing him to rise to the occasion. Determination burned within him even more strongly than his lungs, driving away all other thoughts with its fiery purity.

It caught him by surprise when the air whooshed out of his lungs. He snapped his jaw shut immediately, before he could inhale, but that had already made a sound. He mentally cursed the poisoned, carbon dioxide-laden gas that had forced its way through his lips. He experienced his first moment of doubt. What if he was too weak to succeed? His lungs were trying frantically to expand, sucking the air in his mouth in and out rapidly. He had to pinch his nose shut in order to stop himself from breathing. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears and the only thing he could still see was Mello's face. He felt a touch of panic. What if he couldn't complete the task that had been laid out for him? What would Mello do to him?

Then Mello's eyes caught his again. Failure wasn't an option. He clenched his jaw so hard that it ached. His vision started to swim and his thoughts were becoming sluggish and strange, but he hung on. His pulse thudded in his temples and a deafening rushing sound filled his ears. His whole body started to tingle and slip away but he ignored it, he didn't care, there was only Mello's sublime power over him and the need to prove himself, and then everything was breaking apart and sliding out of his control and he was drowning in Mello's eyes and the world went black in an indescribable moment of complete release that went on for an instant and forever, and it was agonizing and wonderful, and it was nothing and everything at the same time and it was the most intense thing he had ever felt in his life.

The first thing he became aware of was Mello's face above him as sight returned. He realized that he was moving around. His body felt like it had been disconnected from him somehow, and it took a few seconds before he could assert enough control over his limbs to stop. His skin felt tingly everywhere, and little thrills ran through him with each thing that he touched.

Hearing came next, as the formless white noise in his ears gradually receded. He realized that sounds were coming out of his mouth. He didn't know what they were, so he stopped them. Then he could hear that Mello was talking to him.

"Matty! Matty! Are you okay? Matt!" Mello's face was just inches away, and his fingers were brushing his cheek urgently. "Are you okay?"

The world stopped spinning slowly. "I…think so." He was still panting as his body tried to make up for the lack of oxygen. He couldn't remember the last few minutes clearly at all. His recollections were muddled, fragmentary. There was the hazy impression of intense pleasure, jumbled pieces of the thoughts that had run through his mind, but no thread linking them together.

"What happened?" Mello asked, cupping his face gently in his hands.

"I don't know," he mumbled. He felt lethargic and groggy, and his eyes were drooping shut of their own accord. Mello noticed and clambered off of him. He leaned back against the wall and motioned for Matt to follow suit. His limbs were still awkward and uncoordinated, so Mello had to help him sit up and lean against his chest. Mello's arms encircled him lightly.

"You spurted, you know," he said. "When you weren't supposed to. I wasn't even touching your dick, and you still did it."

Matt winced. He remembered that part, but it had such a surreal quality to it that he hadn't been quite sure it had really happened. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to…I guess I just couldn't hold back anymore!"

The look Mello gave him was nonplussed. "You got it all over my butt," he said accusatorily.

Matt hung his head in dismay. He had failed. He was lucky that Mello was touching him kindly right now; he hadn't earned it. "I'm sorry. Are you mad?"

Mello hesitated, looking over his face critically. "No," he said finally. "Because I think you blacked out, just now. And that's not something you can help. So I'm not mad."

That made him feel a little bit better, but not much. He buried his face against Mello's chest and waited for his lungs to start feeling normal again.

"Matty," began Mello softly. "If it had been you on the roof with me that day instead of Near, would you have jumped?"

A bemused smile touched Matt's lips and he lifted his head to see Mello's face. "If you said so, yes. But I…I'm not like you. I'd break a bunch of bones if I did that."

"You wouldn't." Mello shook his head. "You would be safe with me. I would protect you."

His words were captivating. "How?" asked Matt.

"The same way I protected myself," said Mello firmly.

"But…how was that?" Matt inquired, mystified.

Mello smiled at him. "You would be perfectly safe." His lips curved into his signature lopsided smirk, and Matt felt the power wash over him, transforming the statement from mere words into absolute reality. "I would make sure you didn't even get a scratch on you." He brushed his lips across Matt's. "Do you believe me?

"Yes," breathed Matt. The question was unnecessary. Disbelieving Mello's words would be like refusing to believe in the sun. "Of course I would jump with you. We can do it right now, if you want." But even as the words left his lips, he realized that they weren't strictly true. It would be virtually impossible for them to get to the roof. All of the windows that gave easy access had been reinforced with bars since the time Mello had broken through one. "Well, I would do any of those things you said right now," he amended quickly. He mentally ran through the list of them, searching for one that could be accomplished conveniently, and brightened as he realized that there was one he could do right here in this very room. "I'll make the blood promise to you, Mello," he offered eagerly. "I'll do it right now."

Mello peered at him curiously. "You will?"

"Yes." Matt sat up straighter. They had scissors in the room, but more promising than that was the pair of knives they had brought to the room with their lunch. Students weren't supposed to take their meals out of the cafeteria, but nobody was going to fight with either of them over such a trivial matter. "Come on." He took Mello's hand and led him out of bed. His heart was already beating faster in excitement. He was being given a second chance to prove himself. He was lucky.

He picked the knife up from his plate and wiped the remains of lunch off of it. "Okay," he said. He looked at Mello questioningly. "What do I do?"

"You cut yourself so that you bleed, and make the promise that you're mine forever. Then I do the same thing, and we mix the blood together. Then we're blood brothers. That's all there is to it."

"Got it." Matt peered at the blade closely. It was an old steak knife, dull enough that it had given him some trouble with the chicken that had been lunch. He'd slipped with these knives several times in the past and bruised or abraded himself; he only remembered actually breaking his skin one time. It was nowhere near as easy to cut himself with these knives as worried adults would have him believe. He was going to have to put some force behind it if he wanted to actually draw blood.

He gripped the knife resolutely and took a deep breath. He _would _cut himself so that he bled, no matter what it took. This was his chance to prove himself to Mello, to redeem himself from the twin failures of breathing and spurting when he wasn't supposed to. He needed to do this twice as well to make up for his recent transgressions. There could be no wimpy half-hearted false starts as he built his courage; he was bound and determined to make the perfect blood promise the first time around.

Mello had come up behind him. Now he wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his head against his upper arm. Matt poised the knife over the underside of his wrist, where he could see some nice, fat veins just below the surface. "Here?" he asked.

"Sure," replied Mello, squeezing him tightly. "This will be our strongest promise ever. Proof that you belong to me forever, Mail."

"Yes," breathed Matt. He could feel Mello, not just where the blonde was touching him, but everywhere. Mello was all throughout him, from head to toe, a feeling so overwhelmingly wonderful that Matt's eyes fluttered halfway shut and his knees weakened. He would be Mello's forever. All he had to do was make the promise. He brought the knife gently to his arm, then slashed downwards with all of his might.

He wasn't prepared for the huge gash that opened in his skin. The river of blood that welled out of it stunned him. It had flowed down his arm in thick rivulets and spattered the floor in five different places before his brain even registered what was happening. It was even more intense than when Mello had cut himself on the broken window. It was amazing. What he was looking at was the strength of their promise.

"Jesus! What the hell did you do?" Mello had leapt back and was staring at his arm in horror.

Matt blinked "I…made our promise," he said blankly.

"You weren't supposed to cut it so deep like that! Oh my God!" Mello whirled and grabbed his shirt from the floor. "Stay still! God!" He frantically wrapped the fabric around Matt's wrist. It took mere seconds before the blood leaked through. "Hold that there! Hold it!"

Sluggishly, Matt complied. Mello grabbed his pants and threw them at him. "Get dressed! We have to go to the infirmary!"

Matt tried, but he was just getting blood all over everything. The fingers of his left hand felt like fat sausages, they wouldn't work properly. Then, when he was struggling with zipping his fly, the pain caught up to him.

"Aaah!" His arm _really hurt._ He'd been so happy about the promise that he hadn't even felt it until just now.

A fully-dressed Mello grabbed him and finished buttoning his pants with a string of curses. "Come on!" He pulled Matt to the door by his good arm and dragged him into a reluctant run down the hall.


	28. Chapter 28

Roger stared across his desk at the defiant blonde boy. Mello's blue eyes flashed and he crossed his arms over his chest confrontationally. "I already told you, Matt did it himself! Quit asking me the same damned thing over and over again! I know he's not telling a different story, because I'm telling the truth!" He slammed his hands onto the desk to punctuate that last sentence, and it echoed resoundingly in the large office.

Roger willed his nerves to remain steady. It was not an easy thing to do during a confrontation with Mello. Surely one of these days the boy was going to jump right across the desk and attack him. But he felt it was important that there be _someone _who stood up to Mello, and that meant him, because lord knew no one else would risk it. Roger's tenuous opposition was the only thing that kept Mello from having the complete run of Wammy's House.

"But _why, _Mello," he asked for at least the fifteenth time, allowing his pained worry to seep into his tone. "Why did Matt cut himself so badly?"

Mello turned his face away and remained stubbornly silent. The message was clear.

Roger ground his teeth in frustration. Both boys had indeed told the same story when questioned independently, just as Mello had stated. Matt had cut himself with a steak knife. Where it fell apart was _why. _Neither boy would say a word about that.

It was baffling. Roger hadn't even been able to construct a reasonable theory. His first thought, as always, was to blame mischief on Mello's part, but he had watched the young man have a complete breakdown while Matt was being treated. He had been in tears, pacing and sniffling and asking over and over again whether his friend was going to be all right. He had been too upset to even concentrate for long enough to listen to Roger's questions, much less answer them.

But that had changed the moment Mrs. Drewett emerged from the back room and informed them that Matt would be fine after a few stitches and some time to heal. Mello had immediately transformed from a scared, vulnerable little boy to the obstinate, willful teenager with an attitude problem that was sitting before him now. Roger hadn't gotten a word of explanation out of him yet.

Matt, for his part, seemed confused about the whole thing. Mrs. Drewett had interrogated him while she stitched him up. He admitted to cutting himself, but he seemed to be unclear as to why he had done it. Mrs. Drewett thought he was in shock and would be better able to answer questions after getting some rest, but Roger had his doubts that they would ever get a straight answer out of him on that score.

He couldn't shake his certainty that Mello had played a large part in what had transpired, despite both boys' insistence to the contrary. He wished, as he had many times in the past, that he still had surveillance in their bedrooms. But he had been forced to turn many of the House's bugs off months ago when Kentin deduced their existence and hacked into the network. His goal had been to watch the feed from the girls' shower, a typical boyish prank given a genius's twist. But the knowledge had spread through the House like wildfire until all of the students could access the network just as easily as they got dressed in the mornings. Faced with the prospect of the students spying on each other, Roger had decided that deactivating some of the bugs was the best option.

At times like this, he regretted that decision. He would have given a lot to be able to see exactly what had passed between Mello and Matt in the privacy of that bedroom during the moments immediately before Mello dragged a bleeding, half-naked Matt into the hallway. The one minor blessing was that when the word "suicide" had been mentioned, both boys had reacted with surprise and horror. That was something, at least.

The current line of questioning was clearly going nowhere. Roger decided to switch gears. He crossed his hands and rested them calmly on the desk in front of him. "Mello. Matt's chest and stomach are covered in scratches," he said. "How did that happen?"

Mello's eyes widened briefly in surprise. Then he smiled coyly. "Wouldn't you like to know?" His tone couldn't have been any more smug.

He sighed in exasperation. "Well, until I get some answers, I'm forced to treat this as a suicide attempt. Matt's going to be held under supervision for seventy-two hours. You won't be able to see him during that time."

_That _wiped the smirk right off his face. It was instantly replaced with a bug-eyed expression of horror. Then it flipped back to anger. "You can't do that! I need to see him!"

"Maybe so," said Roger mildly. "But he does not need to see you right now."

"Shut up! You're lying! He wants to see me!"

He was probably right about that. Roger doubted that Matt's judgment was sound enough right now to make rational decisions regarding Mello. He considered pointing out that "want" and "need" were two different things, but thought better of it. "You will not see him for seventy-two hours unless I learn what happened," he stated flatly.

"Screw you!" Mello whirled and kicked the nearby chair over, sending it skidding across the floor. Then he stormed out of the room.

Roger watched him go with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He took a deep, shaky breath and sternly forced himself to calm down.

* * *

Mello stomped into the study room, fuming. No way in hell was he going to let Roger tell him what to do. The old geezer wanted to keep him away from Matt, the person who by all rights belonged to him! It wasn't right. Matt would be scared and lonely right now. Matt _needed _him!

He didn't waste any time. He sat down at a computer and got busy hacking the House's surveillance system. He wasn't as good as Matt at this sort of thing, but he could manage. He kicked the desk in irritation when he saw that Roger had changed all the passwords since he had last done this.

It took him ten valuable minutes to gain entrance to the system, but the reward was immediate once he did. As he had expected, the infirmary was still bugged so thoroughly that he could see every inch of it from at least two different angles. He found Matt in a private room, lying calmly on the bed beneath white sheets, staring blankly upwards. He didn't look good. He wasn't even playing his game. Mello bit his lip. Matt needed him there.

He switched his view to outside of the room and took stock of the situation. Mrs. Drewett was sitting at her desk, working at the computer. Mello ground his teeth in frustration. All the hacking in the world wouldn't let him sneak past her. He was going to have to wait until she moved before he could get to Matt, it was as simple as that.

But he could at least be prepared. He used the oldest trick in the book – he cut a five minute loop of himself studying at this very computer and Matt lying still, and laid in wait.

It took nearly an hour for Mrs. Drewett to leave Matt's room unguarded while she picked up dinner. Mello grinned in triumph as he put the looped footage in place, then quietly withdrew from the system. He forced himself to be as casual as possible as he strolled to the infirmary.

His plan was completely successful. Eight minutes after Mrs. Drewett stood up from her desk, Mello was slipping through the door of Matt's room.

Matt didn't react to the door opening until Mello hissed his name. Then he looked over and his eyes widened. A huge grin bloomed on his face. "Mel! I knew you'd be here. Mrs. Drewett said I couldn't see you, but I knew you'd come."

Mello laughed as he dashed across the room to stand by the bed. "Of course I came! I'd follow you anywhere. No one can keep us apart." He sobered as he took in Matt's bandaged arm. "Does it hurt?"

"Yeah," said Matt. "I can't really play my game right now." He shrugged.

Mello reached out and took his hand. The gauze was thick, but some blood had nevertheless managed to soak through. "Can I see?" Matt nodded, and he peeled them back to reveal the wound. The stitches that held the skin together made the cut look far more minor than Mello knew it to be. "Oh, Matty…" He caught his friend's eyes. "What were you thinking?"

"What do you mean?" Matt frowned. "I was just doing what you said."

"No, no…I was picturing more like a drop or two of blood, not a whole _river_ of it."

Matt's expression crumpled. "But it's what you said to do," he said plaintively. "It—it—wasn't right?" He looked devastated.

"No no, that's not what I meant," said Mello quickly. He was relieved to see Matt's frown vanish. He hesitated. It was clear that he was dealing with a delicate situation here. He picked his words carefully. "It was right. In fact, it was…much, much better than I expected."

Matt smiled. It was a fragile, vulnerable expression, one that could be crushed as quickly as it had appeared by even a hint of disapproval from Mello. He brushed his fingers across his cheek lightly, and the redhead closed his eyes in contentment.

Mello chewed on his lip as he looked over his friend. He didn't know what it was, if it was the white sheets or the bandages or just a result of his own rattled nerves, but somehow he was seeing Matt in a whole new light. Suddenly the redhead seemed very small and frail. He was thin, his t-shirt hanging from his shoulders like curtains. Mello knew that he would be able to count his ribs if the shirt were not hiding them. His skin was so pale that it was almost translucent. Mello could see all of his veins. He was beautiful, but he also looked breakable. Mello felt a stab of guilt as his peripheral vision caught the gauze again. Part of him had been broken today.

"Matty, let's finish the promise," he said softly. He climbed into the bed and sat next to his friend. Nothing that was even remotely sharp had been allowed to stay in the room with Matt, so Mello scratched at his wrist with a fingernail. It wasn't very effective. He brought his arm to his mouth and used his teeth to pinch a nub of skin and bite through it. "Ow! Shit," he cursed, but he quickly fell silent as he imagined how much more pain Matt had gone through today for his end of the promise. He pressed his forearm to Matt's so that the two wounds touched each other. Then he rested his forehead against Matt's and laced their fingers together. "This is our promise, Mail. I won't let anyone separate us. I will always come for you, no matter where you are. Because you're mine, now and forever."

When he opened his eyes, Matt was grinning so widely that the top of his head was in danger of falling off. "Yours now and forever," he echoed.

Mello kissed him, then sat against the wall so that Matt could lie down between his legs and lean against him. The redhead settled himself and stilled but for the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Mello hugged his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. His eyes were inevitably drawn back to the stitches in his arm, and guilt stabbed through him every time. This could have been avoided. He had been kicking himself all day for the leeway he had left in his explanation of the blood promise. If only he had said flat-out to make a _small_ cut, this wouldn't have happened! But it hadn't occurred to him that such a thing would need to be specified. It seemed like common sense.

Matt didn't have any of that, though. This incident proved it more clearly than anything else could. He could get so lost on even very simple things, like how he felt or what he wanted to eat. He just didn't know unless Mello told him. Matt was like an abandoned puppy if he wasn't around; he needed Mello by his side just to _live_. It was cruel and dangerous for Roger to try to separate them. There was no telling what he would do if Mello wasn't there to instruct him to stop.

And it made him wonder. Had Matt always been like this? Had he always had this lost and confused side, or was it something new? The Matt of his memories was frustratingly ornery, insultingly able to live without his company for days at a time. That was the Matt that had ignored him in favor of video games and told him to be quiet so that he could sleep and insisted that they use separate showers.

That Matt hadn't made an appearance in quite some time. Mello had never expected himself to feel this way, but he missed that Matt a little bit. He had always thought that he was unlocking Matt's vulnerable heart, but now he suddenly wondered if he was also training out some of his core personality traits. Would Matt still really be Matt if his stubbornness vanished completely? What if Mello was actually _damaging_ him?

He tightened his arms around his friend's shoulders. "Matty," he murmured. "Should I be worried about you?"

"Hmm? Why? Mrs. Drewett said it'll be completely healed in ten days."

"No…I don't mean…" Mello hesitated. He wasn't thinking of Matt's physical injury, but he wasn't sure what he did have in mind. He just couldn't fathom what had been going through Matt's head when he decided to do this, and that scared him. He didn't like Matt to have thoughts he didn't understand. It was dangerous. Fifteen stitches because he had thoughtlessly omitted the word "small" from his explanation! And it could have been worse. What if Matt had taken him literally about cutting himself open and seeing his insides?

The idea chilled him to the bone. Suddenly the power he had over Matt seemed just as frightening as it was exhilarating. He needed to be much more careful with his best friend, he realized. He had made Matt his, thus Matt did whatever he wanted; now he could see that the corollary to that was that he had a responsibility to take care of him. The two came together, flip sides of the same coin. Matt had been holding up his end of the bargain beautifully, following the rules almost to a tee, but Mello had dropped the ball. Otherwise they wouldn't be here.

Shame washed over him. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. It was addressed partially to Matt, partially to God. He would have seen this sooner if he didn't indulge in the sin of pride so often. "It's my fault."

"Hmm?" Matt glanced up at him drowsily. "What are you talking about?"

Mello tightened his arms around his shoulders. "It's my fault you got hurt."

"What? No it isn't," said Matt. "That's silly. I'm the one who did it."

"Oh Matt…" Mello shook his head. "Look. Don't hurt yourself like this ever again, okay?"

"But you said—"

Mello waved him into silence. "If you don't understand what I want you to do, just assume that it's the _least _physically harmful possibility, okay? You're my best friend. I don't want to hurt you."

"But you hurt me all the time."

Mello froze. He had said it so plainly that he might have been stating that the sky was blue. The expression on his face was honestly bewildered. He really thought that his words were true. "I do not," he said icily.

"You do too! Look." He lifted his shirt so that the scratch marks Mello had made on his torso earlier were clearly visible. His lips twitched into a slight grin. "So you're saying that it's not all right if I do it, but it's fine as long as it comes from you? Does that really make sense?"

He was attempting to _tease _him by pointing out a perceived logical flaw. It made Mello really angry. Yes, he had done that—but that was _once, _it wasn't fair to say he did it all the time! Yet Matt believed what he was saying, and that gave Mello pause. Why would he feel that way? Could it be that there was some truth to it? Had he been treating his friend more roughly than he realized?

He bit his lip. Near had been occupying most of his attention lately. The white-haired boy's cancerous presence choked him. He always felt like he was on the verge of drowning, fighting with everything he had to keep his head above water in the middle of a storm-tossed sea with no land in sight. Had he been too careless with Matt?

He would have to sit down and review their recent interactions in order to answer that question, something that took time and couldn't be done on the spot. "Matt, I'll never hurt you again!" he exclaimed. "I won't."

Matt shrugged. "You can do whatever you want with me," he said flippantly.

"Stop! Don't talk like that!" exclaimed Mello.

"But that's what it means to be yours, isn't it?" demanded Matt in exasperation. "You aren't making any sense at all today."

Mello was taken aback. It took him several seconds to speak again. "I don't want you hurt," he said firmly. "Just don't do it. And I won't do it either, so you won't get hurt at all! Okay?"

"'Kay," agreed Matt.

Mello buried his face against Matt's neck. Guilt was still eating at him. "I'll make you feel good all the time. We'll be together always, and when we get out of here, we'll be M and we'll be the greatest detective in the world and—everything will be perfect!" He was borderline babbling and he knew it, but he was desperate to reassure Matt. "Everything's going to be so much better after I beat Near! You just have to hang on until then, okay?"

Matt laughed gaily, like he didn't have a care in the world. "Sure, Mel," he agreed easily. "Whatever you want."

* * *

Roger stared at his computer screen in dismay. He had been _certain_ that L wouldn't be able to ignore this. Matt had fifteen stitches in his arm! But the black-haired detective had surprised him once again. The return email, sent by Watari, curtly denied his request to move Matt to one of their affiliated orphanages.

He ground his teeth in frustration. Just because L didn't need Matt for the Succession anymore didn't mean that he should quit caring about his wellbeing entirely. It was cruel. What was going to become of him now? Would he just languish here until something even worse happened? What would be next? Concussion? Broken bones? Death?

He squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his temples with his forefingers. No, this was no good, wallowing didn't solve anything. What he needed to do was concentrate on what was going well, not fret himself into uselessness over things he couldn't change. He resisted the urge to pull _Dinastes _out of his desk and silently asked himself what was right in Wammy's House during this very second. Matt had no permanent injuries, that was one thing; he would walk away from today's incident with no more than a small scar. Temper had finalized her graduation date for the following spring. She would be finished with the House academic program by then, and since she had elected not to go the detective route, there was no reason for her to stay on taking practicals until she turned eighteen. L had been upset to lose his number four candidate, but Roger privately thought that those who got out were the smart ones.

What else? Cethe, their most recent arrival, seemed to be adjusting well and making friends. Neither Kentin nor Linda had caused any trouble since Jury's graduation. Deale, one of the House's first successful alumni, had visited recently, and that had gone fairly well. She seemed to be thriving, albeit in her own strange way. And Mello wasn't raising hell. There were actually quite a few things that were right with the world, now that he was looking at it properly.

Roger glanced at the feed that showed Mello's studying form and frowned. Considering that he had been forcibly separated from Matt, his behavior was quite good. Unbelievably good, actually, for a boy who threw titanic fits if he didn't get his chocolate on time. When was he last time he had seen Mello be this docile?

He groaned. Never, that's when.

He was out of the office mere seconds later. When he arrived at the study room shown in the feed, he found it empty.

Roger dashed to the infirmary as fast as his aged legs would carry him. He found Mrs. Drewett sitting placidly at her desk, sipping at a cup of tea and reading a magazine. She glanced up sharply when he hurried past her without a word.

The sight that met Roger's eyes when he opened the door to Matt's room froze him in his tracks. Mello had his arms around Matt, his face buried against his neck and hidden by blonde hair. It was Matt's appearance that really caught his attention. He was without sunglasses, eyes closed, head rolled back against Mello, lips parted in pleasure. It was perhaps the most exposed that Roger had ever seen him. The expression on his face right now was completely genuine.

Both boys looked up when the door opened. Matt immediately broke eye contact and tried to scramble into a less intimate position, but Mello held him in place. He met Roger's eyes, his gaze almost challenging in its directness, and leaned down to place a very deliberate kiss on Matt's shoulder.

Roger managed to find his voice on the second try. "M—Mello, you can't be here. Matt needs to rest."

Mello laughed, a low, breathy sound. "Matt wants me here," he said. He crossed his arms over the redhead's chest proprietarily. "Don't you, Matty?"

Matt looked up at Roger through his lashes. He was flushed in embarrassment, but he met Roger's eyes squarely. He nodded.

"Matty, show Roger how much you want me here with you." Mello's eyes were fixed on Roger's with an almost frightening intensity.

Matt smiled, and it was the same mysterious, sensual expression that was on Mello's face. He took hold of Mello's hand and brought it to his lips. His eyes fluttered shut as he kissed along the blonde's knuckles.

"See?" said Mello smugly. "I told you he's mine, didn't I?" He disentangled his fingers from Matt's and took hold of his chin instead, tilting his face upwards so that Roger could see him better. "Matty, aren't you mine?"

Matt was trembling visibly, but the smile on his face was beatific. "Yes," he said. "It's like he said. I'm his. Don't try to keep us apart."

Roger felt queasy as he realized what was happening. This was a show that Mello was putting on for his benefit. He _wanted_ him to see how well he had Matt trained. And Matt was happily going along with it! It was sickening.

He stared helplessly back and forth between the two of them. What could he do? His hands were tied by L, by Quillsh, even by Matt himself. As long as the boy thought he wanted this, there was very little that Roger could do to help him.

He turned and walked numbly away from the frightening scene.

Mrs. Drewett jumped back in surprise when he exited. She had been standing a few steps away from the door, trying surreptitiously to overhear the proceedings. She cleared her throat and had the grace to avert her eyes sheepishly, but when Roger closed the door and stepped away, curiosity overtook her. "Mello's in there?" she asked, pacing after him as he crossed the room.

"Yes," he replied.

"Oh!" She paled and sat down heavily on her desk chair. "I…I don't know how he managed to get by me!"

Perversely, Roger felt a surge of satisfaction as he witnessed her reaction. Up until now, he had been the only one who understood how grave things really were between Matt and Mello. But Mrs. Drewett had gotten an eyeful this afternoon, between Matt's slit wrist and clawed torso, and he knew that she now saw what he saw. One other person had gone through the looking glass with him, and he no longer felt like he was lost and flapping in the wind, abandoned by L and even Quillsh. Now he had at least one ally.

"Did you leave your desk at any time?" he asked.

"No—well—" She flushed uncomfortably. "I stepped out for dinner, but it was only for a few minutes! I brought it back here to eat it!"

"A few minutes is more than enough time for Mello to slip past," he sighed. "He was lying in wait for an opportunity, you can be sure."

Mrs. Drewett's hand flew up to her mouth. "I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed. "I didn't realize—"

"Stop." He held his hand up wearily. "It's not your fault. You didn't know." None of them had realized how vigilant they would have to be to keep the two boys apart. In retrospect, it would probably have required armed guards.

He broke off at the sound of a doorknob. Both he and Mrs. Drewett turned toward Matt's room as the door swung back and the two boys walked out. Mrs. Drewett surged halfway up out of her seat, but Roger shook his head. He didn't see any point in trying to stop them now.

Mello led Matt into the office area. He made eye contact with the two adults in turn, almost daring them to try to stop him. Matt, for his part, just watched the back of his friend's head intently.

For a moment, no one moved; then Mello turned to leave the infirmary.

"Matt, wait." To Roger's surprise, Mrs. Drewett had stood up from the desk.

She managed one step towards the boys before Mello's shout stopped her in her tracks. "We're leaving! Right now!"

She blanched and backed away, but found the courage to speak again. "You can leave. I'm not trying to stop you. I just need to tell Matt some things about his injury. Is that all right?"

Mello narrowed his eyes and glared at her for several seconds, but he nodded and allowed Matt to step out from behind him.

Mrs. Drewett didn't speak right away. Her mouth was hanging open slightly and she had a glazed look in her eyes that Roger recognized immediately. It was the moment of surreal disconnection that happened when a grown adult realized that she had just asked the fourteen-year-old Mello's permission to speak, and couldn't quite work out how this turn of events had come to pass. Roger knew the feeling well.

She shook herself and faced Matt, whose sunglasses-covered eyes might be pointing anywhere. "You need to come back twice a day to have your bandages changed. Also, keep an eye on the stitches. If one of them pulls out, come see me immediately. Okay?"

Matt nodded absently. Roger couldn't tell if he was even paying attention. The openness that had been on his face a scant few minutes prior had vanished completely behind his cold façade.

Mello turned and started forward, but Mrs. Drewett's voice stopped the boys again. "Oh, and one more thing, Matt. Be more careful in the future, okay? One millimeter deeper and you would have cut through tendon. That would mean permanent loss of movement in your left hand. You would never play a video game again."

Matt absorbed this in silence, staring at her with an unreadable expression. When he didn't move, Mello jerked on his arm. "C'mon Matty, let's go." He marched the two of them out of the room.

Mrs. Drewett stared after them with a worried frown creasing her brow. "Did that…did that get through to him at all?" she asked Roger anxiously.

He shook his head helplessly. "I have no idea."


	29. Chapter 29

Mello finally located Matt sitting on his bed, playing his video game. He did a double take. He had already searched for him here twice today to no avail.

"Matty!" He ran across the room, but halted a few feet away when Matt didn't acknowledge him. "Matt," he said again.

"Mm," came Matt's mumbled response. He still didn't look up.

Mello ground his teeth in frustration. Matt had been sulking like this ever since he got out of the infirmary. It was all Mrs. Drewett's fault. She just _had _to phrase it that way. Yes, it was important to make Matt take it seriously and all, but—to point out that he'd nearly lost the ability to game? That was below the belt. Matt had been glued to the screen ever since then, like the stupid thing was his security blanket. It made Mello feel guilty every time he saw him, and that, in turn, made him mad. He knew he deserved some punishment for his role in this, but there was a limit, and Matt was pushed right up against it.

He climbed onto the bed and sat next to his friend. "Matty. Where were you all morning?" Matt mumbled something that he couldn't hear. "What?" His tone bordered on a snap.

"I said I was outside," repeated Matt, eyes still fixed on his game.

Mello glared at him in consternation. Matt never went outside voluntarily; that was why he hadn't checked for him there during his three circuits of the House. The only logical conclusion was that Matt had gone outside to _avoid him. _He didn't like the sound of that at all.

"Matt, would you put that thing away?" he asked wearily.

"I'm on a boss battle," answered Matt absently.

Mello's fists clenched of their own accord. He couldn't stand to let Matt blow him off. "I said to put it away!" He grabbed the game and tried to wrench it out of Matt's hands. The redhead actually _fought _against him to keep it. It was absolutely infuriating. Anger galvanized him, and he tore the device free from Matt's hands. He immediately hurled the thing across the room, but he had the presence of mind to make sure it landed in the well-padded clothes hamper where it wouldn't be damaged.

Matt threw his hands up in frustration and sighed. "I was almost at the end of the level! Now I'm going to have to start over."

"I don't give a shit about your game," said Mello contemptuously. This was stubborn Matt that he was seeing, a throwback to older times. He wondered what kind of temporary insanity had gripped him when he was entertaining the idea that he missed this side of him. "You _don't _ignore me."

"Yeah whatever," Matt muttered.

Mello's eyes narrowed dangerously. Right now, absolutely _anything_ could be going on behind those pretty emerald eyes and that upturned nose. Matt's thoughts were secrets right now, and that was a definite violation of the rules.

He wanted to hit him. He nearly did. But he reined himself in at the last second and shook his head pityingly instead. Matt was confused. He'd gotten so lost in his own head over the past few days that he had forgotten that the way out was to follow Mello. He reached out and brushed his fingers through Matt's hair affectionately. "You know, Matty, sometimes you're really stupid for a genius."

"Shut up!" Matt pulled away from him with a wounded look on his face.

Mello bit his lip. He hadn't meant anything by that, but it had nevertheless made things worse.

Well, there was one surefire way to melt Matt's coldness and make him pliable again. He scooted forward and flicked his tongue over Matt's ear. "Matty…" he crooned in his most persuasive tone.

Matt hunched in on himself a little bit more. Mello jerked back and stared at him in astonishment. Matt _never _turned down his touch.

"I just…don't really want to do it right now," the redhead said diffidently. "My arm hurts, and I'm tired and I have a headache and…I just…" He shrugged apologetically. "I just don't want to do it right now."

"What do you mean?" demanded Mello, bewildered. "Why would you not want to feel good?"

Matt gave him a wan smile. "I…dunno…I just…" He trailed off with a one-shouldered shrug.

Mello shook his head in disbelief and frustration. The way he was acting didn't make any sense. Matt _did _want to be touched; why couldn't he see that? If Mello could get inside of him even the tiniest bit, he could make him remember. All it would take was just one kiss, one touch, one caress—yet Matt was keeping him from doing even that right now!

Mello reached for him a second time. "Kiss me," he ordered.

"Stop." Matt put his hands up defensively and shoved at Mello's arms.

Confusion flipped to fury in an instant. Matt had not only defied an order, he had actually _lifted his hand against him._

"What the hell!" he screamed, smacking Matt's limbs out of the way. "You don't push me!" He grabbed Matt's shoulders and shook him. The redhead unfolded from his sitting position and jerked back, eyes wide with fear. He managed to slip Mello's grip and scramble across the bed.

Mello launched himself after him and impacted his chest. Then they were wrestling, rolling over one another across the sheets. For long seconds they were stalemated, until the comforter slipped off the bed and dropped them both in a struggling tangle to the stone floor.

Matt exclaimed in pain as he landed on the bottom and scraped his elbows. Then he started fighting again.

Mello was enraged. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? You're mine! You don't fight me!" He jammed one knee into the redhead's stomach, shoving him to the ground and eliciting a groan. "You kiss me when I say! Matt!" He pinned one of Matt's wrists to the ground and grabbed a handful of his hair to hold him steady. Matt still struggled against him, but there was little he could do from his prone position.

Mello delayed for a moment, smirking down at him. Unexpectedly, he found himself enjoying this moment. The anger of being disobeyed had been replaced by the rush of victory. He was already panting from the exertion of the struggle and his blood was singing in his veins. Somehow, it was even more satisfying to have Matt helpless beneath him after beating him in a fight than it was when the redhead went willingly. He wanted Matt five times more than he had when he first entered the room.

He swooped down and smashed his lips into Matt's. The redhead made a muffled sound of protest and kept his mouth tightly shut even when Mello opened his. He narrowed his eyes. The insubordination didn't make him angry this time; it was just another challenge to overcome.

He bit down on Matt's lip. The redhead squeaked in surprise and writhed beneath him. Then Mello tasted blood. Matt opened his mouth to gasp, and finally he was in. He kissed him passionately, finding that the iron tang actually added something. He let his leg slip sideways so that he was straddling Matt, then let go of his hair in order to trap both of his wrists against the floor.

Matt was kissing him back now, breathing heavily as his hips jerked up against Mello's. It was impossible to tell whether he was still struggling or just trying to feel good, but even through four layers of fabric Mello could feel how hard he was. He whooped triumphantly as he matched his motions to Matt's.

The whole thing took only a few minutes from start to finish, but it was incredibly intense. Matt bucked up underneath him with a shuddering cry, and Mello surprised himself by shouting "fuck" as his hips broke free from his conscious control to rub wildly against Matt.

Mello pushed himself shakily onto all fours and looked down at Matt. He was still panting with his eyes half closed. A thin trickle of blood ran from his lip down his cheek. That was going to mar his perfect face until it healed, but Mello didn't care. It was more than worth it for this experience. He was flying. He didn't remember _ever _feeling this good afterwards.

"Matty," he gasped, steadying himself with one hand on his chest as he clambered off of him. "That was amazing! I have to change my pants." He laughed. "So do you."

Matt opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling dazedly. Then he rolled onto his side and curled up. He brought one hand to his lip and touched it, then probed it with his tongue. "You bit me," he said. He sought Mello's eyes, his expression accusatory. "You _bit _me! I'm bleeding!

"Because you wouldn't let me kiss you," retorted Mello in exasperation.

Matt shook his head rapidly, as if trying to clear it. When he looked at Mello again, the mix of emotions on his face was so complex that it defied his ability to read. "Why did you…I didn't want to do that…why did you make me?"

Mello blinked. "But you liked it."

"Well I…I don't…I don't know why…" He shook his head again and ran his fingers through his hair agitatedly.

"Come on, I know that was one of the best times for you too!" exclaimed Mello. There was no way he had misread Matt's body language. The tension in him, the speed of his breathing, his sounds—Matt had felt just as good as he himself had.

But now he was hugging himself and shivering. Somehow, he was still confused, Mello realized. He grinned in bemusement. Matt really _was _slow for a genius. He was going to have to show him the way once again. "Matty." He reached out to gently cup his friend's cheek.

Matt flinched.

Mello froze. There had been nothing deliberate or calculated in that reaction. It was just his Matt, cringing away from his touch.

"Matt," he gasped in a hushed tone. He tried again, brushing fingers along his upper arm lightly. Matt allowed the touch, but his whole body was stiff with tension. He wouldn't meet Mello's eyes.

For once, Mello was at a complete loss. Touching was the best way he had of comforting Matt. If that wasn't making him feel good, what could he do? Something was very wrong right now. Matt hadn't been shy of contact with him in over a year.

He leaned forward and embraced his friend, keeping his touch so gentle it was barely there, holding him like he was made of glass. "What is it?" he whispered.

Matt shuddered and jerked out of his arms. He half spun, half fell, and ended up sitting on the ground facing Mello, leaning back on his hands. His eyes were wide, and his breaths were quick and panicked. For a moment they faced each other, both frozen in surprise and shock. Then Matt scrambled to his feet.

"J—just—just leave me alone!" He had bolted for the door before the last word was even out of his mouth. Mello was left alone to hug himself forlornly and sniffle.

* * *

Matt wandered through the halls of Wammy's House in a daze. His lip hurt. He could feel his heartbeat throbbing in it, and it was still leaking blood. His stitches hurt. His ribs and his left eye were sore from the last time Mello had lost his temper. His stomach ached with hunger.

But the worst part of it was that he couldn't figure out what had just happened. Mello had bitten him, bitten him so hard that he actually _bled—_but right in the midst of it, he had made Matt forget all about it and get carried away with spurting.

His face really stung. He was furious at himself for not raising a stronger objection when Mello did that. The blonde didn't necessarily listen to a single word that came out of his mouth, but he could read Matt's reactions like a book. He did, at least cease and desist when he could see that Matt was truly upset. He _had_ been intensely hurt when Mello split his lip open, but somehow that feeling had been overwhelmed by…the other junk. He'd been too wrapped up in feeling good to even put up a fight, and that was humiliating. And it guaranteed that Mello would do it again; that, or something even more painful.

It was…frightening. He had not wanted to touch Mello when the blonde first appeared. He had resented it when Mello took the game away, resented it even more when he invaded his personal space against his wishes. But then Mello had tackled him and wrestled him to the ground, and…somehow everything had changed. His anger had just vanished, replaced by…he didn't know. He felt his cheeks flushing as he recalled how he had felt when Mello grabbed him and threw him off the bed, when Mello's knee knocked the wind out of him, when Mello's hands pinned his wrists to the ground. It wasn't rage or fear or betrayal or even resentment, it was…it was…

He swallowed hard and walked faster. That didn't make sense. He wasn't going to follow that train of thought to its conclusion because it was stupid. Nothing in those few minutes added up. He should have still been angry. He should have been in too much pain from his lip to actually enjoy himself. But the current uncomfortable stickiness in his underwear testified to the contrary. It was like Mello had somehow flushed his entire conscious mind down the toilet, until all that was left was some animalistic creature that craved…that wanted…that enjoyed…

Matt didn't like the way any of the possible endings to those sentences sounded, so he mentally rephrased. Some animalistic creature that did things Matt himself would not do. Because they made no sense.

He shrank in on himself and avoided eye contact with everyone as he slunk through the halls, trying to pretend that that shameful wetness didn't exist. He went over and over the transition from resentment to pleasure again and again, but continued to find no good reason for it. It felt like something foreign was in his head, something not-Matt. His _own brain _had done something he didn't want and couldn't comprehend.

Was he losing his mind?

The prospect loomed in front of him, huge and terrifying. It was the pit, the void, the black hole that sucked people in to be lost forever. It was the fate worse than death. The essence of a Successor's existence was to hone razor-sharp deductive wits. His brain was all he had, all he _was._ The thought that it might not be working properly was the most horrifying idea that the world could possibly hold.

He realized that he had frozen in the middle of the hallway, too petrified to even put one foot in front of the other. He forced himself to start walking again, ignoring the dread that chilled him to the bone.

Was he crazy? He posed the question silently to himself, then determinedly turned his mind to the task of answering it. Was he? If he was, would he be able to see it by analyzing his past actions? His past thoughts? Was his judgment sound enough to decide either way? Was it even possible for a crazy person to determine that he was crazy? Could he trust any of his own thoughts? It was a terrible recursive nightmare, riddled with catch-22s. The contradictions and loopholes were dizzying; he couldn't even hold them all in his head.

By the time he reached his bedroom, he was shaking. His mind was all over the place, he couldn't focus. He got as far as taking off his soiled pants, but got distracted before replacing them and sat down heavily on the floor. _Why _couldn't he focus? He could always manage it when Mello told him to think about something, but now that the request was coming from him, his head was anything but cooperative. Did _that _make him crazy?

He balled his fists and ground them into his closed eyes, fighting his racing heartbeat and whirling thoughts. They skipped around seemingly at random; memories, class work, clips of conversations, so quickly that it added up to a kind of fragmentary white noise. Matt curled up in a fetal position and tried frantically to make it go away. Finally, frustration overcame him. He screamed.

The sound cut through the chaos in his brain like a javelin. The frightening whirlwind ebbed and faded away within a few seconds. He opened his eyes and found himself panting and shivering, soaked in cold sweat despite the warm summer air. He stood up, gingerly probing his thoughts as he did so. He found no tendency to backslide into the state he had just been in.

That had been panic. Not craziness; just anxiety getting the better of him. He hardly recognized it. The last time he had felt that way, he had been upside down in a car that was somersaulting off of the road. He felt a twinge of sympathy for Mello, who was anxious about everything all the time. It must be hard to be that high-strung.

With the panic in remission, Matt's brain was much more cooperative. He began with the assumption that even if he were crazy now, he had not been for his whole life. Otherwise everything fell apart at the seams and there was no point in even bothering with this exercise. First question: was he different than he had been?

He snorted aloud as he pulled on a fresh pair of jeans. Of course he had changed. But he had also been growing up; that made people change, so it was hardly diagnostic. Second question. _How _had he changed?

The most obvious answer was that he had become Mello's. That, of course, had altered everything. They had once had a fairly normal friendship, like the other students seemed to have. They had studied together, roughhoused, snuck around at night getting into trouble, and so forth. They had bickered from time to time, had misunderstandings, occasionally even fought.

Now there was no fighting. Mello told Matt what to do and his options were either to comply, or to get the shit beaten out of him and _then_ comply. Now, looking back at it, Matt tried to put his finger on exactly when he had lost the ability to say "no."

It was because of The Rules, probably. They had grown from a single, simple command into something massive and all-consuming. Mello was endlessly creative at inventing them, and they had grown more and more challenging over time. Each Rule was a promise between them, a pact. The Rules meant that they were together at all times, even when Mello was locked in the library on a study binge. When Matt walked the halls in the path that Mello had told him to use, Mello was with him. When he wore the clothes Mello had chosen for him, he felt his best friend's touch on his skin. Each time he earned an odd look from a classmate, it was a badge of pride. He and he alone could follow Mello's commands—no one else could even dream of handling it. The Rules were proof of their unique friendship, Mello's power made tangible. They turned the world from a boring exercise in pointlessness into a place where every action had a purpose, a reason and a reward—or punishment. They were, in a way, what gave meaning to Matt's life.

He had never resented them, even when they tested the limits of his willpower and endurance. Rather, he took a perverse pleasure in executing Mello's commands to the fullest. Starvation, sweaters in the height of summer, sleep deprivation—the tougher the Rule, the more thrilling the rush when he succeeded. Sometimes it was powerful enough to bring him to his knees, a quivering pile of limbs and flesh, eyes rolled back in his head as pleasure dripped down the back of his neck like ice water on the hottest summer day. It had even happened in public a few times. The Rules did things to his head, wonderful things, magical things. Perhaps crazy things.

That was it, he realized. He had isolated the crazy. Somehow, when he was with Mello, he couldn't tell when bad things were happening to him. His best friend would stare into his eyes, and he would be completely overwhelmed, swept away in Mello's power. Only later would he come back to himself and realize that he had a black eye or was bleeding.

Matt pushed up his sleeve and stared at the half-healed cut on his arm. He had even done _this_ willingly, unable to see the negative consequences of it. Mrs. Drewett's words came back to him: "one millimeter more…never play a game again…" They chilled him. He had come so close, so unspeakably close to doing something that could never be undone, and his mind hadn't even raised a single red flag in warning.

The Rules no longer felt special. The magic had completely drained out of them. All they were was Matt doing difficult and painful things to satisfy Mello's strange whims. He suffered for hours on end, for _days _on end, and for what? A fleeting moment's worth of Mello's approval? And if he messed up, he was immediately subject to punishment. He was almost always walking around with a reminder of his last transgression stinging painfully somewhere on his body, be it black eye or bruised ribcage or crushed toe. It wasn't fun. Actually, it sucked.

Matt covered his face with his hands. He wanted to go back. He would do anything to erase his new understanding of his situation. He wished that he could rewind to yesterday and forget everything that had just gone through his mind. But now that he had seen the truth, he couldn't reclaim his blissful ignorance. His days of enjoying The Rules were over.

Logic told him that he should just say no. Anyone else would, wouldn't they? Linda and Kentin were going out and he didn't see either of them ordering the other around. Nor, for that matter, was one of them perpetually covered in bruises. If anyone but Mello tried bossing him around, he would have no problem laughing in their face and telling them to go to hell. Couldn't he do the same with Mello?

He tried to picture it. Mello giving him an odious or painful task, and him facing his friend down with a firm "no."

He couldn't. The images wouldn't form, and guilt shot through him for merely harboring the thought. He had to master the urge to look over his shoulder, as if Mello would be able to sense his treacherous thoughts from across the House and come punish him.

He tried again, methodically attempting to put the scene together in his mind, choosing a setting, a time of day, even a particular request, but still his mind skittered away from picturing his defiance. When he pushed it, he got short of breath and broke into a sweat. His legs wobbled and he stumbled to his knees.

He stopped, staring forward blindly. He was shocked that mere thoughts had that much power over his body. Maybe if he had put his foot down years ago, he would now be able to stand up to Mello. But he had let things go on for too long. He wasn't capable of defying Mello, and that, too, was the part of him that was crazy.

His mind ground inevitably to the most terrifying place of all: the future. The prospect of what might be next for him filled him with unspeakable dread, and yet he couldn't turn away. Where would it end?

The answer dropped into his mind like a great grey leaden weight, huge and immutable. It would end when Matt no longer had any free will left. Mello wouldn't be satisfied until he was nothing more than a puppet that obeyed him blindly. His best friend was going to destroy him.

He wanted to deny it. He wanted to change it. But past events had followed a direct linear path, and the only logical extrapolation was that they would continue to do so. Mello would keep pushing him until his mind broke. It wouldn't kill him physically—not immediately, anyway—but it would kill what made him _him. _

Fear gripped him and he hugged himself, shivering hard. He tried saying it out loud, just to see how it felt. "I'm going to die." It felt awful, and hearing the words spoken made it all the more real. "Mello will kill me." He bit back a sob.

His legs started moving of their own accord. He had no destination in mind, he just wandered, driven by anxiety. Mello had become the enemy. His _own mind_ had become the enemy. He couldn't trust anyone or anything. Even the familiar halls of Wammy's House seemed to be filled with dark and forbidding shadows. His world was upside-down, simultaneously barren and filled with monsters lurking around every corner.

He wound up outside of the cafeteria. Whether it was by chance or because his growling stomach had unconsciously guided his steps, he didn't know. What he did know was that it smelled delicious and he hadn't eaten in a day and a half.

To hell with it. Matt decided to do something reckless. He dashed to the counter and asked for everything. Hamburger, French fries, peas, fruit salad, cookie—it was all sublimely delicious. He ate it so fast he almost choked. The attendant expressed her approval of his healthy appetite when he went back for a second plate, gave him an odd look when he asked for a third and flat-out refused to give him a fourth. She tried to ask him what in the world was going on, but he had already turned away to sprint for the nearest toilet.

Lunch was painful the second time around. The food was half-chewed, all of it. He wondered what in hell he had been thinking and realized that he hadn't been. He was just reacting blindly, half-panicked. Eating out of turn was enough of a transgression to earn him a lot of pain from Mello, but not enough of a stand to be meaningful. Worst of both worlds.

Throwing up left him breathless and shaky. He leaned against the wall and held his knees as he waited to feel better. As he saw it, he had two options. He could accept his inevitable future, just give up and let Mello have his way with him. He would lose his last tenuous grip on sanity and free will, but on the positive side, he probably wouldn't be aware of it for very much longer.

Or he could leave.

It wasn't a choice, really. Only one of the options was viable. He was going to quit Wammy's House. Leave Mello. Even as his mind reeled at the radical thought, he knew that it had already become his future.

He got shakily to his feet and stared around himself in a daze. He felt like he had wandered into a dream, but this time he walked with a destination in mind. He was going to Roger's office. Roger would help him—in retrospect, _had _been trying to help him for quite some time. He was pretty sure that the whole point of their weekly meetings was to try to make him understand things that hadn't clicked until just now.

Matt arrived at the principal's office. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, then lifted his hand to knock.


	30. Chapter 30

There was a knock at the door. Roger absently called out permission to enter and glanced up to see who his visitor was. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw Matt framed in the doorway.

He immediately closed the file he had been updating and turned off his computer monitor. He wanted to make sure the redhead knew that he had his undivided attention.

"Please come in, Matt." He gestured to a chair, and the boy crossed the room wordlessly to sit in it. "What can I help you with today?"

Matt was silent for a long moment, eyes downcast. Then his face tilted up slightly; presumably he was meeting Roger's eyes through his sunglasses. "I need to leave," he whispered.

Roger could scarcely believe what he had just heard. He hoped against hope that Matt meant what he thought he did, while wondering at the very same moment if there could be some alternative meaning behind his words. "What was that?" he asked softly.

Matt swallowed visibly. Then, very deliberately, he reached up and took off his sunglasses. He folded them neatly in his lap and met Roger's eyes squarely. "I need to leave Wammy's House."

Roger got the message loud and clear, and he was overjoyed. He hadn't thought that Matt had this in him. The boy had seemed too far gone to break away from Mello, no matter how much he made him suffer. That was usually the pattern with adults, too—it typically took years for people to leave their abusive partners.

What he was witnessing here, he realized, was an amazing display of strength and fortitude. Roger felt momentarily dizzy as his entire view of Matt crumbled and began to reform in a completely different shape. He considered the possibility that all of them had sold the redhead far short. In the end, Matt was going to be the only one among them who would rise above Mello's reign of terror.

This wasn't the first time Matt had shocked him over the years. Each time Roger thought he had him pegged, he would do something to prove that he had been wrong all along. He was a veritable chameleon, that boy. Never in all his time as principal of Wammy's House had a student so thoroughly and so frequently confounded his expectations. He wondered if he had a true inkling of Matt's personality even now.

Roger smiled, then grinned outright. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this happy while on House grounds. For just this once, it felt like the dark clouds that permeated this sick and twisted place had pulled back, and the sun was shining through brightly. Matt was going to escape this.

"I understand," he said aloud. "I'll make some calls. You'll be in a new institution by tonight."

Matt's eyes widened. "Tonight?" he echoed.

Roger nodded firmly. He wasn't going to give him time to stew and second-guess his decision. "I will have Liz meet you at your bedroom with some bags so you can begin packing. We'll work out the details of your graduation later. You can leave as soon as…" He did some quick mental calculations. "Three or four hours from now. As soon as you're ready."

Matt nodded jerkily. He stood up slowly and crossed the room.

"Wait, Matt," said Roger when he was almost at the door. The boy turned around and met his eyes diffidently. "I'm proud of you."

Matt blinked and regarded him uncertainly for a long moment. Then he nodded once and left the office.

Roger immediately paged Liz at the supply room and instructed her to help Matt get packed. His second act was to write an email to Watari appraising him of the situation. It was short and to the point. "Matt asked to leave. Will relocate him today."

Then he thought fast. It was going to be hairy to find an appropriate place for Matt on such short notice. The most convenient option would obviously be to choose one of their affiliates in London. He sifted through them in his mind and selected the one that offered the most advanced courses in computers and technology. As an added bonus, its principal owed him a favor. He nodded to himself as he picked up the phone.

He stopped with his fingers hovering over the buttons. No. He needed to be smart about this. His call would leave a record in the House logs. Mello could hack into that system. He was going to want to know where Matt had gone, and would do his damnedest to find out. And if he did…

Roger didn't know. Matt would be halfway across the country, thoroughly out of the boy's reach. He frankly couldn't fathom what harm Mello could do with the knowledge, and part of him felt silly for being so paranoid. But he had underestimated Mello's ability to wreak havoc in the past, each time with devastated consequences. This time around, he was going to be safe rather than sorry.

He tried to think deductively, as if he were one of the students here. He would never reach their level of genius, but he had managed to pick up a few things over the years. He had to assume that whatever data was in the security system would eventually end up in Mello's hands. It was impossible to make any sort of outgoing communication without leaving a record. Emails were all archived. He could see that the contents of a phone conversation were not logged, but a record of the call would still exist. He could erase them, of course, but he didn't doubt that Mello was resourceful enough to recover them. He had to proceed with the presumption that all of his activity here today would eventually be known to the boy.

He was halfway through formulating his plan when he received the return email from Watari. He stared at the W on the screen with trepidation. It seemed that this time around he had managed to warrant a quick response, in contrast to all of the other occasions he had requested help for Matt. But that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

The message was devastatingly clear. It said, "L says Matt stays; do not transfer."

Roger fumed. He took a certain amount of bloody-minded pleasure in writing his response. "Transfer is proceeding."

This time it took less than a minute before he got a response. To his amazement, the L line was ringing. He opened his top desk drawer and regarded the cell phone that permanently rested there. He had never actually used it before.

He grabbed it and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Roger." It was Quillsh. "I wish I didn't have to cut to the chase like this, but we're very busy here. What are you trying to do? L said not to go through with the transfer!"

"Matt is in desperate circumstances," retorted Roger crisply. "You saw the pictures of his injuries, didn't you? He needs to be moved somewhere else for the sake of his physical and mental wellbeing."

"He—" began Quillsh.

The line clicked. Roger blinked, thinking that he had been disconnected, but then a different voice spoke.

"Roger. Because you're being difficult, I'll explain my reasoning to you." Roger nearly dropped the phone in surprise; he now rated attention from _L himself? _"Removing Matt from Wammy's House will also take away one of Mello's main incentives to stay. Under those circumstances, there is a greater than ninety percent chance that he will leave the program before completing it. That is unacceptable."

Anger flared in Roger and he jumped up from his desk. "Then fire me, because I'm transferring him!" he shouted, and flipped the phone shut.

For a long moment, he just stared at the device, his heart pounding. He couldn't believe that he had just hung up on L. It filled him with a mixture of exhilaration and nervousness. It started to ring again, and Roger switched it to silent and put it away in the drawer.

He took a moment to compose himself, then got to work. He began by calling twenty different orphanages around the globe. He remained on the line with each one between four and six minutes, no more, no less. He warned them to expect inquiries about this call in the near future, and instructed them not to answer any of the questions. Most of the people he spoke to were taken aback, but cooperative—they were used to receiving strange requests from Wammy's House. Besides, it mattered little whether they adhered to his request or not. These first twenty were nothing but red herrings.

When he finished, he slipped into the hallway and made his way to the infirmary. He informed Mrs. Drewett that he needed to step out for a bit and put her in charge.

Then he headed for the front door. He felt keenly self-conscious, as if he was breaking the rules and anybody who looked at him would immediately know it. He, the principal, was afraid of being caught by one of his students. He told himself to snap out of it, but he was nevertheless relieved when he reached the outside without encountering Mello.

It took him fifteen minutes to drive to Winchester proper and another five to locate a phone booth. There, he made the two most important phone calls of the day. The first was to his contact at Children's Voice Foundation, an affiliate of theirs that was just beyond London. He asked her to drive and meet him halfway in order to pick Matt up. Then he begged and cajoled and repeated how important it was until she agreed to it. The second was to a boarding school in America that he had in mind as Matt's ultimate destination. He couldn't stay in London for long for the simple reason that it was the first place Mello would suspect him to be.

Then it was done. Matt had a new home waiting for him. Mello could spend all the time in the world scrutinizing the House records and he still wouldn't find anything; the calls that could link him to Matt had not originated from there. For Mello, Matt was going to simply vanish off the face of the Earth today.

Roger hurried back to his car. He was already second-guessing himself by the time he put on his seatbelt, beset with doubts that he was capable of hatching a plan that could foil Mello. He hated this feeling. It made him suspect that the true dunce of the House was himself, made him feel woefully inadequate day in and day out. No principal should have to feel this way.

He brooded about it the whole way back to the House. But as soon as he pulled into the lot, he got a new set of worries. Mrs. Westbrook was standing in the doorway, looking out across the yard. He knew instantly that something was wrong, and his suspicion was confirmed a moment later when she caught sight of him and started waving frantically.

Roger parked the car as quickly as he could and hurried to the front door, his stomach sinking in dread as he wondered what had gone wrong in his absence.

* * *

Matt was in a daze when he left Roger's office. By the end of today, he would be gone. He couldn't imagine it. It didn't feel real.

He had to pack. He had to say goodbye. He was never going to see these halls, these walls, these people again. He stopped and stared numbly into one of the study areas, realizing as he did so that this was the last time he would ever look at this room. He presently became aware that Daniel was inside, and was watching him nervously. "M—Matt…do you want something?"

Matt snapped back to the present. "Oh, no…I just…" He shook his head slowly. This seemed as good a time as any to break the news. "I'm leaving. The House. Today." He turned without waiting for a response and plodded to his bedroom.

Liz was waiting by the doorway with suitcases, as Roger had promised. Matt already dreaded what was coming, even before he saw the tears in her eyes. She hugged him and exclaimed over how much she would miss him. He nodded and mumbled vague agreements until she got the hint and left him alone.

He hated moments like that one. Heartfelt, teary goodbyes that were supposed to be emotional and touching—they were so awkward. He never knew how to handle them. And he was going to have to go through it with _each person in the House. _He wished he could just sneak out the back door and skip them all.

But he knew he would never get away with it. He would have to face all of them, especially Mello. He would have to _tell Mello _that he was _leaving._

That thought kept cycling through his mind over and over again, filling him with dread. He couldn't think of a good way to go about it. He kept trying to plan his words, but coming up empty. It seemed like an insurmountable task. He tackled it, grappled with it, gave up in despair and pushed it out of his mind. He would try again in a few minutes; hopefully something would come to him then.

He began packing mechanically, his mind elsewhere. Video games were lined up one by one on the bottom layer, clothes were folded messily and stacked on top. _He had to tell Mello that he was leaving. _It had been easy to tell Daniel; Daniel didn't matter. But Mello, on the other hand…it hung over his head like an ominous thundercloud, like a guillotine. Mello's reaction was going to be…he didn't know a proper descriptor for how awful it was going to be.

It caught him by surprise when Linda appeared in his doorway, hands on her hips. He straightened. Her eyes traveled from him to his bag, then to him again. "So it's really true," she said in a hushed voice. "You're leaving."

"Yeah," replied Matt. It still felt surreal. "I'm really leaving."

"When?"

"I dunno…by the end of today, I guess." As he said it, he realized that Temper was there too. She had hung back outside of the room, looking diffidently over Linda's shoulder. She turned her face away as soon saw him looking in her direction.

"I just heard!" exclaimed Linda. "I can't believe how out of the loop I am!"

"Oh…you aren't," Matt assured her. "I only decided a little while ago."

Linda frowned, then covered her face with her hands. She shook her head rapidly, making her pigtails bounce. "I can't believe this is happening," she said, her voice muffled. "It's going to be a completely different place with you gone!" She dropped her arms to her sides and shook her head again. "I just can't believe it!"

Matt blinked at her, mystified. "Why not? I'm not the first to leave." More than half of the Elite class was gone already. Six had dropped out rather than graduating. He couldn't see what was such a big deal about him doing the same.

"But never someone with your rankings!" she exclaimed. "Two and three! I mean, what the heck is Mello going to do with himself all day if he doesn't have Near around to compete with?"

The light bulb finally went off in Matt's brain. "Oh," he said. "No. Mello's not coming with me." He made a sound somewhere between an affectionate laugh and a derisive snort. "Do you really think he'd ever give up on being Successor? No way."

Linda's expression glazed over blankly. "You're leaving Wammy's House…on your own?" Matt nodded. "Oh my god," she said, her voice hushed in awe. "Hell just froze. It's a good thing I'm not superstitious, or else I'd be thinking the apocalypse was on the way!"

Matt was starting to feel uncomfortable under her gaze, so he turned around and started throwing more clothes into the suitcase. The silence lengthened.

He nearly had a heart attack when he glanced over his shoulder and saw that Linda was right behind him. "What did you guys fight about?" she asked.

Matt was so taken aback he didn't even know how to react. He felt a nervous grin spreading on his face, and ended up just staring back at her. She looked him over keenly, then sighed. "Not like I really thought you were going to tell me anyway." She cocked her head at him. "You know, I think I'm actually going to miss you, for some reason. Even though you're, like, a total freak." She darted forward and hugged him before he could back away. He awkwardly put his arms around her and waited until she let go of him. "I guess I'll let you get to that," she said, gesturing at his suitcase. "Bye, Matt."

"Bye," he mumbled.

Linda turned to leave, and he noticed Temper again. He had gotten so used to ignoring her that his eyes nearly slid right past her. She had become practically a part of the scenery to him. But today he looked at her and actually saw her.

Suddenly he felt bad. She had made the effort to be his friend for a long time, long after everyone else had given up. She had even braved Mello's potential wrath by finding him when the blonde wasn't around in order to apologize for the kiss and ask what she had done to make him so mad.

He had never answered. He had simply ignored her, as per Mello's orders, turning his face away and pretending that he couldn't hear or see her.

That had been very mean, he could see that now. He couldn't believe that it had never occurred to him before. She probably didn't even know that it had been Mello's decision and not his own, he realized.

Guilt pricked him. "Hey Temper!" he blurted.

Temper froze, then looked around as if he might be talking to a different Temper right over her shoulder. "Me?" she squeaked.

He nodded. "Yeah." He took a few steps towards her and halted nervously, forcing himself to meet her eyes. "I um…I'm sorry I was so mean," he said. "All that time that I was ignoring you. It…" He trailed off. He wanted to say, "I didn't want to do it. Mello made me do it, if it were up to me it would've been different"…but he didn't. It _had _been his own doing. Mello had given the order, but Matt was the one who had decided to follow it. "It…wasn't your fault," he said finally. "It didn't have anything to do with you."

She stared at him mutely, eyes wide. The moment stretched enough to make Matt start to feel uncomfortable. He didn't know what to do. Was this the part where he was supposed to say goodbye? Or was he supposed to hug her? Linda had hugged him, after all. He took a hesitant step forward.

The hand that struck his cheek surprised him more than it hurt. "You absolute bastard!" she shouted. "Of _course _it had to do with me! It had everything to do with me! I was the one you were ignoring! I never did anything to you—except _like _you—" She broke off in a sob as tears sprang to her eyes. "How can you even say that? How—can—" Her breaths came faster and faster until they rendered her words unintelligible. Linda had leapt to her side and was doing her best to put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "I hate you and I hate Mello and I wish you were both leaving!" she finally managed, her eyes burning with raw emotion. "You two deserve each other!" Then she whirled and ran down the hall. Linda gave him a withering look before following.

Matt was stunned. He had figured that she would have completely put him out of her mind shortly after he made it clear that he intended to continue ignoring her. But for her to be that mad, she must have been resenting him all this time. Now that he was thinking about it, maybe that wasn't so surprising after all.

He went back to packing his things. The Mello problem still had to be dealt with. He _needed _to think of a good way to break the news to him—soon he would be finished getting ready and he wouldn't be able to put it off any longer. The realization was driven home when he came across Mello's rosary in his nightstand drawer. It had been resting there for so long that he had nearly forgotten about it. He was going to have to give it back.

"Matt."

He jumped. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that Near's approach had caught him completely by surprise. Now he turned and stared at the younger boy. Near was holding onto the doorframe with one hand and twirling his hair around one finger of the other. His eyes were fixed on the wall far to Matt's right.

"What?" he asked when the white-haired boy didn't speak.

"Please do not leave."

Matt stared at him in mute incomprehension. The last time Near had spoken to him had been to tell him off in the study room after witnessing him kissing Mello. He was the lastperson in the whole House that Matt would have expected to try to dissuade him from leaving. "You want me to stay?" he exclaimed.

"Yes," said Near. "That is the outcome that Near desires."

"But why?" asked Matt cautiously. "Once I'm gone, you'll have Mello all to yourself. I won't be there to distract him and keep him from reaching his true potential. This should be exactly what you want!"

"It is true that Matt is a detriment to Mello's study habits," said Near. "However, I have concluded that there is a ninety percent probability that Mello will never study with me again, even if Matt leaves."

Matt would have put the odds at closer to ninety-nine percent, himself, and for once he felt certain that his answer was more accurate than Near's. But he held his peace and let the other boy speak.

"Therefore, Matt's absence or presence has no direct bearing on me, and so I have no feelings towards it either way. It does not matter to me whether you leave or remain."

Even now, he could make his words hurt. Matt's stomach sank like a stone. But Near's next words made him forget his bruised feelings entirely.

"I am making this request for Mello's sake."

Matt stared at him in complete mystification. "You're asking me to say for Mello's sake?" he repeated blankly.

"Yes," said Near. "Mello likes Matt. Mello does not like Near. It is nonsensical, but it is still true. Only Matt can be Mello's friend. Only Matt can study with Mello." His gray eyes swiveled upwards and met Matt's squarely. "Only Matt can touch Mello." His gaze was filled with an avid, naked hunger that made Matt's skin crawl. "You do, don't you?" he asked. "Touch Mello?"

Matt quickly turned the other direction, trying to push Near's utter creepiness out of his mind. "I already decided," he said gruffly. He waited for Near's response, but none came. When he glanced over his shoulder, the other boy had gone.

That exchanged kept him preoccupied for short while, but he soon returned to the task that was still hanging over his head. Mello. How in the world was he going to tell him? What were the right words? "Mel…" No. "Mello. I have to tell you something…" No. What about, "Hey Mello, come here." No, not that either. Perhaps—

"Matt!"

Matt jerked upright in pure guilt, dropping the shirt that had been dangling from his fingers. It was Mello. Mello had found him.

He spun and found the blonde boy standing in the doorway with one hand on each side of the frame, eyes bugged out in horror. "Oh my God! You really are! You're packing up to go! Matt! What the hell!" He dashed across the room and grabbed Matt's shoulders, making him wince. "Why the hell didn't you come tell me right away?" he demanded.

Matt could have kicked himself. He had been sitting here fretting over his words for so long that someone else had told Mello that he was leaving. He cursed his own stupidity. Of _course _people would tell him—they would be dying to know his reaction! He should have realized that this was going to happen.

"I didn't know how," he answered truthfully. He found that he couldn't meet his friend's gaze, and knelt to pick up the fallen garment instead.

Mello dove forward and snatched it from in front of him. "Are you crazy?" he shouted. "Stop it! Stop it!" He batted Matt's hands away from the suitcase and grabbed handfuls of clothing out of it to throw across the room. "I don't care what Roger said! I don't _care _what! He can't take you away from me!" His eyes were wide and wild, his pupils contracted to mere pinpoints in agitation. "I'll stop him. He can't stand against me! I don't even care if it was Watari or L! I'll stand up to either one of them for you!" He threw his arms around Matt's shoulders and buried his face against his neck. Matt cringed. That touch, that had once been the end-all, be-all of his existence, now just felt uncomfortable. "I won't let it happen. I won't. I won't! I—"

"It wasn't L," blurted Matt. It took a moment for Mello to realize he was speaking and halt his nonstop string of words. "It wasn't L," he repeated. "It wasn't Watari. It wasn't Roger, either."

"Who, then?" demanded Mello urgently. "Who decided this?"

"It was me."

Thunderous silence filled the room. Then Mello lifted his head very slowly. He kept his hands on Matt's shoulders, but stepped back enough that he could meet his eyes. "What?"

"It was me," repeated Matt stonily. "I decided."

Mello's jaw slowly dropped to hang completely open, and he staggered back another step. He shook his head in disbelief once, twice, then many times in rapid succession. "No…no!" What are you saying?"

As Matt stared into Mello's pleading gaze, he felt a wave of dread so intense it made him dizzy. He didn't know how to explain himself. The sheer volume of things that needed to be said was overwhelming. He didn't even know where to start.

When he opened his mouth, all that came out was, "It sucks here." He tried to find more to say, but he couldn't. The words would not come. Instead, he held his hand out with Mello's rosary dangling from it. "This is yours."

Very slowly, Mello lifted a hand to take it from him. Tears were already flowing down his cheeks as his arm dropped limply to his side. His expression was utterly, completely stricken. Matt wished he were anywhere else but here, even if it meant that the earth opened up and swallowed him to save him from this moment.

"You…want this…?" Mello whispered. Matt nodded once. "You…you…"

Abruptly, Mello snarled. "You _traitor!_" He had tackled Matt to the ground before he had even processed the lightning-quick change in mood. Now Mello was atop him, blue eyes darkened nearly to black with hot rage. "You traitor!" he screamed. "I'll kill you! I'll _kill _you!"

One look in his eyes was all it took for Matt to know that he was serious. Panic raced through him. Mello was going to murder him.

Then they fought. A _real _fight, unlike any they had had in the past. Mello was shouting at the top of his lungs as he rained blows down. Matt's mind was reeling, but some hitherto unknown instinct for survival kicked in and held him back from the edge of panic. Logic replaced terror. One wrong move and he was dead; his mind engaged every faculty at its disposal to search for a way out. He calculated trajectories of flying limbs, used his knowledge of Mello's personality to predict his next moves, weighed which defensive options had the highest probability of success. Mello had the superior position, but if he could just stay one step ahead—

He couldn't. Consumed with wrath, Mello was far stronger than he was. The blonde broke through his grip and seized both sides of his head, then cracked it onto the stone floor with all of his might.

The world darkened. Matt's limbs wouldn't respond to his urgent pleas to defend his body. He feared he might lose consciousness. If he did, Mello would surely bash his brains out on the floor. That would be ironic, if his attempt to escape a slow death at Mello's hands led to a fast one instead. Matt wondered wildly if this was the last train of thought he would ever have.

Then there was shouting and a flood of footsteps. Mello was yanked from him, taking a double handful of red hair with him as he went. He was struggling with every once of strength as he was dragged backwards across the room. Someone was helping Matt sit up, but he didn't see who. His vision was tunneled on Mello.

"Our promises!" he screamed. "How could you? All of our promises! You shit! You bastard!" His string of epithets didn't slow until the person holding him managed to twist his arm up behind his back with enough force that he shrieked and fell to his knees. Then he stared at Matt with eyes so full of heartbreak and betrayal that he felt sick.

"All of our promises," he wept. "We were supposed to be together forever!" He was hauled to his feet and jerked towards the door, and he resumed his struggles. "You were supposed to be mine! We're meant to be M together! How can you throw it all away?" He raised his voice louder and louder as he was manhandled through the door. "Matt, you _promised!_"

Then he was hauled around the corner out of sight, and distance rendered his words no more than unintelligible shrieks. Matt remained frozen in horror as the sound gradually died away.

People were touching him, talking to him. Matt heard their words without processing them. "Sorry…" "…should have moved more quickly…" "…wanted to give you two a chance to say goodbye…" "…should have watched more carefully…" He allowed himself to pulled to his feet and led to the bed. He remained very still as Mrs. Drewett checked his reflexes, mechanically answering her questions until she pronounced him concussion-free.

Matt gradually came back to himself as she inspected his arm. He had pulled a few stitches in the fight, and now they needed to be repaired. He followed her docilely to the infirmary and waited while she fixed them. Roger came into the room during the middle of it and sat next to him. He remained mercifully silent, and Matt found his presence a little bit comforting.

By the time it was finished, Liz had brought his suitcase to the infirmary. The adults had undone the damage Mello had perpetrated on his packing job; it was now ready to go. The bag seemed very small, somehow, considering that it contained his entire life. He hadn't acquired many things of value over the past decade.

Roger and Mrs. Drewett led him to the front hall. Most of the students and staff had assembled there to see him off. They all stared at him, morbidly fascinated by his cuts and bruises. Normally he would have felt uncomfortable as the center of all that attention, but today he found that he didn't care. He just wanted to get this over with. The image of Mello's face, so full of pain, kept haunting him. Once he was away from Wammy's House, he would be able to put that out of his mind, he was certain of it.

The goodbyes were curt and efficient. Matt just nodded coolly to most of them; only a few insisted on words or hugs. Temper and Mello were notably absent.

Then Roger led him out of the House and into the evening sunlight. Matt instinctively reached for his sunglasses, but hesitated, toying with them. In the end, he shoved them back into his pocket and just squinted.

Their immediate destination turned out to be a car. Mr. Davies helped him load his suitcase into the trunk, then opened the passenger's side door for him. Roger was already sitting in the driver's seat. He put the key into the ignition and started the car.

As they pulled out of the parking space, Matt twisted in his seat to see the Wammy's House façade for what would probably be the last time ever. The sight didn't stir so much as a shred of emotion in him. He felt nothing at all.

He swiveled forward numbly. Then he took a deep breath and waited to be borne into whatever came next.

Fin.


	31. Epilogue 1

He didn't know how long he had been here. It had been light and then dark and then light again at least once, maybe twice. People had long since stopped pounding on the door. Hunger was a dull, constant ache that gnawed at his stomach, but chocolate was the furthest thing from his mind.

The room that had been Roger's office was now in shambles. Not a single piece of furniture had been left standing, not a single drawer intact. He had been completely thorough in his search. Security logs, Roger's computer, student files—he had combed them all time and time again. Even L wouldn't have found anything to criticize about his meticulousness today.

Yet he had found nothing. _Nothing. _Roger had made outgoing calls to other orphanages, yes, but none of them had turned up a lead. Mello had called every single one three times before tearing the phone off the wall in anger. Nobody was talking, and there was nothing in the records to make one stick out over the others. They were obviously a smokescreen, there to deflect him—but they were proving maddeningly effective.

Mello howled in frustration and rage. Or tried to—his voice was so torn up from all of the shouting he had been doing that it came out as a hoarse whistle. He grabbed a handful of fallen books from the remains of the shelves and hurled them across the room, then snatched another and began tearing its pages out in handfuls. He felt no relief. He leapt up and yanked the last intact lamp from its resting place on the ground, then launched it out the window. Where it landed, he didn't know or care.

The computer had also gone that route after a seemingly interminable stretch of hacking had yielded nothing. The paper records had proven similarly empty, as had the contents of Roger's desk drawers and his personal memo book. A record of where Matt had gone simply _didn't exist_. And the old man wasn't talking, not even when Mello had grabbed his shirt and shaken him until his teeth rattled.

No one else on the staff knew either. The trail was cold.

Matt was gone.

Mello collapsed to the floor and wept. His eyes still burned from the last round of tears, but he didn't care. He missed Matt like he had never missed anything in his life, not even his parents. His rivalry with Near had never caused him this much pain, not even in the really bad moments. It was pure agony. He couldn't stop thinking about Matt. His embrace, his emerald-green eyes, the way his lips felt, the way his voice sounded when he diffidently confessed thoughts he'd never shared with anyone before—Mello ached for it. He would give up anything for it, even his place as a Successor. He would walk out right now, rebel against everything that L and Wammy's House stood for and use the skills he had learned here to find Matt, if only he could find a single lead.

But he couldn't.

He cried until he couldn't move, then cried some more. It just built up inside of him, a burning pain that had no outlet. He dug his fingers into the carpet, kicked the side of the desk, pummeled the fragmented remains of the mirror with his fists, but he still didn't feel better. He couldn't release this. Matt had always been his release; without him, Mello feared he was doomed to feel like this forever.

He clenched his eyes shut and clutched his rosary so tightly that it bit painfully into his skin. _Why?_ He sent the accusatory thought out with all of his strength. He would have screamed it aloud if he had any voice left. _Why did You do this to me? How can this be right? Why? _He sent the agonized prayer aloft again and again, but he already knew the answer. It was not God who had done this to him. God had brought him and Matt together, setting everything up as it should be. It was _Matt _who had decided to leave and ruin everything. God could not interfere with Matt's free will. Matt had torn them apart. Matt.

The crying fit came to an end, but not because he felt better. He just didn't have the strength to keep going. He lay there, faced with a stark truth that he could not ignore. Even if he did locate Matt, it didn't mean that he could bring him back here and go back to life as it had been. Matt had left _him. _Given the chance, he would probably do the same thing again—fix him with that blank expression, say he was bored and walk away.

The memory of how cold Matt had been in that moment settled over him like a leaden weight, crushing his chest. Matt had felt nothing, he had seen it in his eyes. The redhead had moved on even before he started packing his bags. He had forgotten his feelings for Mello, just abandoned them as if they had never been. Erased them. Erased Mello. While he lay here weeping in heartbreak, Matt wasn't even thinking about him. He was probably idly playing his game without a care in the world.

It hurt so much that Mello wondered if his heart would simply give up and stop beating, and if it did, if it would actually be a mercy. He didn't understand how Matt could do that. _He_ certainly couldn't; he was going to be hurting for the rest of his life. Had it ever meant anything to Matt at all? Any of it? If it had, _how could he walk away from it so easily?_

But the fact was that he had. Matt had tossed him aside easily, just as his parents had, once. Just like the nuns at his old orphanage who had shipped him off to Wammy's House to get rid of him. Just like Near had thrown away their friendship. Everyone he had ever cared about had abandoned him, each time without a shred of regret. He hugged himself miserably. Any one of those incidents he could blame on the other people involved, but taken as a whole they painted a compelling picture. He didn't know what was so wrong with him that nobody could love him. He couldn't see what he had done to deserve this. But it must be something really obvious to everyone else. After all, his parents had seen it before he was even a year old.

Time passed while he lay there, weak and shaking. His mind went mercifully blank for a while, and he simply existed, a body that lived and breathed but didn't think. The pain stayed at bay just beyond the limits of his consciousness.

Sounds gradually percolated into his awareness, against his wishes. Crickets chirping. Snatches of conversation from three stories below, just beneath the threshold of comprehension. They brought with them the unwelcome reminder that life went on outside of this room. He had a life, and like it or not, he was going to have to go back to it sooner or later.

Mello got to his knees. His life. His future. He tried to picture it. Classes. Exams. Trying to impress L. Fighting his cutthroat battle with Near. Becoming Number One. As each responsibility passed through his mind, he felt the stress of it settling into him and tearing at his heart. His mouth contorted into a silent scream and he bent double, covering his face with his hands as fresh tears fell. It was so much pressure. It was _so hard_ to fight the battles that he fought every day, and he didn't know how he would do it all by himself. He silently begged God to tell him why He had singled him out to live such a tough life. For the first time, he wished that he could run away and leave all of it behind. Just be a normal kid somewhere living a completely unremarkable life, free of the crushing responsibilities that came with being a Successor.

But that was not to be. His dream to follow L as his Successor was the only thing he had left, now. He _had _to succeed, or he would have nothing. Be nothing. He _would _throw himself back into the competition with Near; he _would _become Number One. It would be very hard without Matt, his best friend, his haven, but he would find a way. He would have to toughen up and become stronger. No more weakness, like now. No more tears.

Mello sat up, then used Roger's desk to help him stand. The path ahead contained nothing but cutthroat competition. He had to rise up to meet it. And he _would, _he _could_. He was strong enough. He wouldn't let this destroy him.

He was through childishly relying on other people, allowing himself to get hurt when they betrayed him and tossed him aside. It was time to grow up. If they didn't want him, fine. Fuck them. Fuck all of them. Matt too. What was Matt going to do without him, anyway? He had always needed Mello more than Mello needed him. He was going to be absolutely wretched out there in the world by himself. He didn't know how to live without Mello's guidance. Leaving had been the stupidest decision that he ever made, and he would regret it every day once he realized it. He might even come crawling back, begging for forgiveness.

But Mello didn't need him anymore. He didn't need anyone. He was strong. He was going to make it on his own, his own way. He would show them when he became L's Successor. He would become Number One, no matter what it took to get there, and then he would show them.

And once he was Number One, everybody would love him. People the world over would talk about M in hushed, reverent tones, and say how much they wished they could meet him. Those around him would vie for his attention. They would all want him for themselves, and would feel honored when he chose to spend his time on them. Nobody would ever toss him aside again.

The people who had hurt him in the past would feel unspeakably stupid for having had the chance to be around M and throwing it away. They would be deeply ashamed for ever being unkind to such an important person. They would come and try to apologize, to ask for a second chance, but he wouldn't be interested. He would already have enough people around him who loved him. He would tell them to get lost.

Mello was starting to feel a little bit alive again. He stopped using the desk for support and stood on his own. Yes, he was ready to go back into the world. Ahead lay his rivalry with Near; once he came out on top of that, all of his dreams would come true.

He strode to the door. There he paused with his hand on the knob to take a deep breath and steel himself. Then he strode through, into the first day of his new life.


	32. Epilogue 2

Kimberly glanced sidelong at her mysterious new charge. Intensely red hair, split lip, distant attitude. Her attempts to start conversation had all been rebuffed with monosyllables and silent nods, so she had decided to leave him be.

He hadn't moved a muscle since then. He was leaning his head against the window, staring listlessly at the passing scenery. He wore sunglasses, even though dusk was turning into full dark outside. There was a handheld game dangling from his fingertips, but he had made no move to turn it on.

He was a mystery, all right. Roger's frantic call, begging her to come pick him up _today; _the instruction not to contact Wammy's House no matter what, and to simply wait until he contacted her; the hurried exchange that made it clear that Roger was afraid to be away from the House for long; all that was in addition to the boy's split lip and collection of scrapes and bruises. He had stitches in his arm that needed to come out in a few days. In his haste to be off, Roger had given her limited details about the boy's situation. Something about domestic violence and abuse. It boggled the mind how that could apply to a fourteen-year-old in the middle of a crowded orphanage, but she took his word for it. Those Wammy's kids were all too precocious for their own good, and they got up to some strange activities. This didn't mark the most shocking thing she had seen come out of that House; far from it, in fact. She had once met Beyond Birthday.

It was full dark by the time they arrived. "Well, here we are," she said brightly. "Children's Voice Foundation. Your new home, at least until we figure out what you want to do with your life." Matt just nodded and climbed wordlessly out of the car. She sighed as she followed him.

Once they were inside, she passed his suitcase off to one of the assistants and took Matt on a tour of the main building. He didn't say a word or have a single strong reaction the entire time, not even when he saw the recreation space, which usually excited new arrivals. Kimberly introduced him to other students when they ran into them, but Matt just bobbed his head quickly in greeting. He was a shy one, this Matt. She could already tell that he was going to be difficult.

"Well," she said once they had made a full circuit. "Now that you're familiar with Children's Voice, what would you like to do?" He shrugged. "Would you like something to eat?" He shook his head. "Do you want to meet the rest of the students?" A more emphatic head shake, this time. "Would you like to play in the computer lab?" Again, a negative response. Somewhat at a loss, Kimberly considered. "You've had a long day, haven't you, Matt? Do you just want to go to your room and get some rest?"

Finally, he nodded. Kimberly showed him where the bathroom was, then led him to his new bedroom. He ducked inside and shut the door the moment she let him go.

When the next morning rolled around, Matt didn't emerge from his room. Kimberly poked her head inside and found him sleeping. She left him there, but checked back every hour afterwards. It was noon before he woke up. Kimberly pulled a chair up to his bedside and sat in it.

"How are you feeling today?" she asked. He just shrugged, an action that was barely visible underneath the blankets that covered him. She sighed and continued. "It's going to be at least a few days before we can get you into any classes. Your time is yours until then, and all of the facilities are open to you. You can spend your time as you see fit. Do you have any questions? Is there anything I can do to help you get settled in here?"

The boy was staring straight upwards, unmoving and unblinking. He looked ghostly. He mumbled something below her threshold of hearing. "What was that?" she asked, leaning closer.

He met her eyes dully. His lips were twisted downwards at the corners. "I said, I don't know what to do."

Slightly taken aback, Kimberly frowned. "There's no need to decide right now," she told him. "You have your whole life ahead of you; you don't need to make any tough choices today. For now, why don't you just get dressed and come down to the cafeteria for some food, once you're feeling up to it?"

He nodded and went back to staring at the ceiling. Kimberly left him there and went about her duties, waiting patiently for him to come downstairs.

But he didn't make an appearance at the cafeteria. When there were only thirty minutes left in the lunch period, she went upstairs to check on him again.

He was asleep. She frowned nervously. She understood that it was draining to pack up and leave one's entire life behind, but he had skipped dinner yesterday. He should be ravenous by now.

When he also didn't appear for dinner, Kimberly knew that something was wrong. She brought him food on a tray and refused to leave until he had consumed half of his sandwich. He didn't speak the whole time. As she was exiting, she saw him pulling the covers up over his head.

The next day, she pounced on the student counselor the moment she walked through the doors. "You have to talk to the new student," she said. "He's too depressed to get out of bed."

The counselor returned an hour later shaking her head. "I can't get anything out of him," she reported. "Usually the troubled ones act out; yell, say how much they hate me, declare that they'll never be happy, _something_—but not this boy. He just lies there and answers my questions in shrugs. I can't tell you anything more than you told me. He's too depressed to get out of bed."

The headmistress was at a loss; Matt wouldn't talk to her, either. Kimberly was tentatively given charge of him, since she was the only one who had managed to get more than a monosyllable out of him. Unfortunately, she also had no idea what to do. She let him have his way, aside from forcing some food and water on him at mealtimes. She wondered how long it would take him to get out of this funk, or if there was some key to communicating with him that she just couldn't figure out. She kept hoping that Roger would call and give her some insight into how to handle this boy.

But he didn't. Kimberly wondered what he was dealing with on his end that had caused him to leave her so high and dry on hers.

When Matt's third morning in the institution rolled around and he still didn't make an appearance outside of his room, Kimberly decided that it was time to change her approach. Letting him mope about didn't seem to be helping; maybe some routine and normalcy would get him back on his feet. She would put him into classes at random, and never mind that they hadn't tested his proficiency. He came from Wammy's House—she doubted that he would find any of the course work to be over his head.

He was still asleep when she went into his room. She padded quietly across the carpet and gently shook his shoulder.

"Matt," she said softly. "Wake up. It's nearly eleven already."

There was no response. She shook him a little more firmly. He still didn't so much as twitch. Alarmed, she pulled the covers back from his face.

He was flushed bright red and drenched in sweat. "Matt? Matt!" She rested her hand on his forehead and gasped. He was burning up, his skin almost painfully hot to the touch.

Approximately eight minutes later, the nurse pulled a thermometer out of his mouth and informed her that his temperature was forty degrees. When she tried to get him to drink water, he threw up and started shaking. Eight minutes after that, he was en route to the hospital.

Kimberly was going out of her mind with worry in the waiting room. Nobody would tell her anything. She almost wept in relief when a doctor finally appeared to talk to her.

"It's a condition called septic shock," he told her. "It's basically a very severe form of bacterial infection. It began at the wound in his arm, but then spread to his internal organs. We don't know yet if he's going to pull through."

Fear warred with fury at herself. Those stupid stitches! She hadn't checked them. Actually, she had completely forgotten about them, preoccupied as she had been with Matt's more visible problematic aspects. Could she have prevented this? "I don't understand," she said. "How could the infection get so bad, so quickly? He was perfectly fine yesterday!"

The doctor cocked his head at her. "Well now, that's not really true, is it?

Aside from the stitches themselves, he has a black eye, a nice collection of bruises, an impressive bump on his head, and evidence of two old cracked ribs. And as for how the infection spread so fast, well, he appears to have virtually no immune system function right now. He's in the first stages of malnutrition, and his body has clearly been under a lot of stress lately. So why don't you tell me something. Just how _did_ he get those stitches?"

Kimberly felt the wind knocked out of her with each injury he listed. She blanched. The first stages of _malnutrition? _What in God's name had Matt been through before this? What were they _doing_ to him at Wammy's House?

Then the tenor of the doctor's final question sank in. Her teeth clenched in fury. "I…I don't know!" she exclaimed. "He's only been in my custody for a few days, I swear!" She was going to _kill _Roger the next time they spoke. This could get her into serious trouble. Not just her, but the Foundation as well! If Child Protective Services so much as sniffed around, it would leave a cloud of bad reputation hanging around them for years. The funding would dry up immediately. Roger had subtly let her know in the past that her institution would never have to fear legal consequences relating to a student from Wammy's, but could she really count on that now? She couldn't even call him and ask for his help!

The next two days were harrowing. Matt's temperature reached a peak of forty-one degrees. He was kept in a tank of cool water and hydrated through an IV drip. He was hooked up to an ungodly number of beeping machines, and had a constant stream of antibiotics pouring into him. He lost five pounds from his already emaciated frame.

All the while, Kimberly was dealing with questions from doctors and social workers. She had no idea how to answer them. She was afraid she would ruin everything for Roger if she admitted that Matt had been transferred from Wammy's House, but she also didn't want to lie and get herself or the Foundation into trouble. The headmistress seemed to have a better idea of what to do. She stepped in and took as much of the pressure off of Kimberly as possible, but she privately admitted that they were fucked if someone on the Wammy end didn't intervene on their behalf soon.

On the third day, things got markedly better. The doctors declared that Matt was stable and would make a full recovery. Mere hours later, the social workers thanked Kimberly for all of her help and left.

Then Roger called.

The call was forwarded from the Foundation to the hospital. Kimberly would have taken off his ear with a string of epithets if she weren't in the middle of a crowded waiting room. He apologized for the delay in contacting her, saying it was hard to get away from the House to do so. He promised that he was working on a more reliable means of communication between them, one that would allow her to contact him when she needed to. He expressed his worry over Matt's condition. He told her that she wouldn't have to fear Child Protective Services anymore, it had all been taken care of. He sounded so weary and genuinely sad that Kimberly's fury with him had ebbed considerably by the end of the conversation.

Matt was too weak to leave the hospital right away. He was going to need medical care and monitoring for a full week. He asked for a laptop to use while he was bedridden, and was granted one. He started chatting on and off with Kimberly and some of the nurses. He looked far healthier than he had before, and even started putting on a little bit of weight. He seemed more or less content as he sat there playing on the computer while he recovered his strength.

The day that he was discharged and taken back to the Foundation finally rolled around. Kimberly tucked him in to bed and promised that tomorrow they would get him settled in, and he could start thinking about what he wanted to do next.

When morning came, Matt's bed was empty.

Kimberly sprinted through the halls, gathering all of the students and staff to search for him. They looked high and low, but didn't find any signs of him. It was only when Roger called and frantically informed her that Matt's entire trust fund had been drained and his House records deleted that she realized what had happened.

Matt had run.

He hadn't been playing on his laptop during his recovery. He had been _planning_.

Now he was gone. Where, why and how was a mystery. They couldn't trace his electronic trail; he had hidden it too well.

Roger declined to mount an extensive search. "We can't afford to leave any clue to his whereabouts in the Wammy's House records," he told her. "That would ruin everything. Unfortunately, there is nothing else I can do."

"But he's only fourteen!" exclaimed Kimberly, aghast. "You can't mean to just leave him on his own in the world!"

"Honestly, leaving him alone might be the kindest thing I can possibly do for him," answered Roger, his voice heavy with sorrow. "He has money, and he's a genius. He should be all right by himself."

Kimberly bit her lip. "Do you really think so?"

"I hope so." Roger sounded suspiciously choked up. "I really hope he can make it on his own."


End file.
